HELEN CHAFFEE WORKMAN 


Selections for Small 
Speakers 



BAKER’S RECITATION SERIES 


| Walter H. Baker Company, Boston 













































Selections for Small 
Speakers 


ARRANGED BY 

HELEN CHAFFEE WORKMAN 



BOSTON 

WALTER H. BAKER COMPANY 
1923 



CHAFFEE-NOBLE SCHOOL 
OF EXPRESSION 

(Established in 1877 by Mrs. Edna Chaffee Noble ) 

102 Garfield Avenue - DETROIT, MICHIGAN. 


Directors 


Mrs. Helen Chaffee Workman. 
Mrs. Emilie Clark Chaffee. 


The following collection contains selections used with suc¬ 
cess in the above school, and is published in answer to the de¬ 
mand for more numbers suited to the use of children and young 
people who have appreciated Mrs. Workman’s first collection 
“ Recitations for Children.” Mrs. Workman wishes to express 
her thanks to the several authors and publishers whose kind 
permission to use copyrighted material controlled by them has 
made it possible to produce a representative collection of high 
quality, and her publishers desire to thank in their turn those 
who have given them similar aid. 



Copyright, 1923 , by Helen Chaffee Workman. 


©C1A701051 


KB \MS23 


TVO 


1 




•set/ 'fKfc i 





CONTENTS 


About the Fairies 
Ballad of Bravery, A . 

Beautiful Day, The 
Bobbery 

Boy’s Essay on Snakes, A 
Chickadee—Dee, The 
Child’s Census, A 
Correction-Box, The . 

Dancing Lesson, The . 

Dolly’s First Lesson * 

Downtrodden 
Duel, The . 

Easter Legend, An 
Elder Brown’s Big Hit 
Ethics in the Nursery . 

Family Belongings, The 
Flo’s New Suit 
Flowers that Laughed, The 
Freckle-Faced Fan 
Frog Tea Party, The . 

Garden Jingle, A 
Get-Up-It 
Gittin’ Sleepy 
Good-Day 
Good Resolutions 
Hard to Wait 
Her Name . 

Hezekiah Bettle . 

Home Problems . 

How the City Boy Was Whipped .... 
How the Lily of the Valley Became Fragrant, L. F. H. 
Irony of Fate, The .... Carlotta Crofts 

Irrepressible Boy, The. 

Jamie’s Fable. 

Jane Jones ...... Ben King 

Jessie’s Valentine . . Helen Chaffee Workman 

3 


. Elizabeth A. Paris 
. W. D. Nesbit 
. . Kitty White 

. . Eliza Grove 

. Herman Da Costa 
. . Eugene Field 

. Nixon Waterman 

. Sarah Noble Ives 

Frederick Moxon 
Helen Chaffee Workman 
. Margaret f. Preston 
Helen Chaffee Workman 
. Clara Doty Bates 
. Laura E. Richards 
Helen Chaffee Workman 
William R. Light on 
Helen Chaffee Workman 
. . Carlotta Crofts 

. . May Noble 

. Anna F. Burnham 
. Malcolm Douglas 


PAGE 

39 

40 
40 
42 
47 

5 1 
18 

52 

33 

54 

15 

55 

56 

16 
13 
32 

57 

58 

59 

65 

12 

32 

3i 

30 

34 
65 

69 

70 

71 

72 

75 

82 

76 

77 
29 
28 











4 


CONTENTS 


Jim Squirrel 
Just Me 

Learned Grandfather, The 
Legend of Easter Eggs 
Legend of the Forget-Me-Not, The 
Lesson in Spelling, A 
Little Feller, A . 

Little Girl’s Receipt, 

Little Sinner, A . 

Lost Purse, The . 

Margareta’s Tad 
Margareta’s Truant 
Mary and the Brook 
Me an’ Bab 
Me and Ma—And Pa 
Mr. High-Hopper Grasshopper 
Monitor, The 
My Clock . 

My Wonderful Dad 
Nidd Noddy Land 
No Pocket . 

On a Rook 



Opportunity 
Our Menagerie 
Partnership . 

Queer Hole, A 
Question of Possession, A 
Rustic Fourth, A . 

Sensible Christmas, A . 
Spoiled Darling, The . 
Storm Clouds’ Snow Men, T 
Thankful Jimmie . 

Tommy’s Suspicions . 
Tom’s Three Christmases 
Tragedy, A 
Truth .... 
Vacation 
Very Good Little Girl, A 
Way to the Fairies, The 
What Might Happen . 
When Aunt Visits Us . 
Wicked Jumping Jack, The 
Wise Decision, A . 


Oliphant Down 


Myrtle Koon Cherry man 


Ethel E. Sleeper 

Edgar A. Guest 
Oliphant Down 
Oliphant Down 

. Joy Vetrepont 

Mary Joss Jones 


. J. W. Foley 
Henry June Patee 


Oliphant Down 
Paul Laurence Dunbar 
Helen Chaffee Workman 
Margaret Vandegrift 


Myrtle Koon Cherryman 
. T. H. S. 
. Carlotta Crofts 

e, Helen Chaffee Workman 
. Joseph C. Lincoln 
. Lowell O. Reese 


Mary Dickerson Donahey 


M. B. S. C 


5 

15 

79 

11 

79 

80 

81 
88 

89 
26 

9 

22 

90 

91 

93 

94 

96 

97 
24 

23 

99 

6 
21 

IGI 

103 

104 

105 

10 
60 

106 

107 

6 

7 

47 

108 

109 
no 
no 

21 

19 

hi 

112 

114 












Selections for Small Speakers 


JIM SQUIRREL 

They put me in the corner, 

And kept me there an age, 

Because I used my tooth-brush 
To clean the squirrel’s cage. 

The wires were dull and dirty, 

The wood was turning green, 

With tooth-brush and some water 
I quickly scrubbed them clean. 

They told me I was naughty, 

They called me “dirty child”; 

But I thought of clean Jim Squirrel, 

And clenched my teeth and smiled. 

I could see him from the corner 
And his cage was ripping bright. 

As I watched him gay and happy, 

I knew that I was right. 

I’d made Jim Squirrel comfy 
As I always try to do; 

And I haven’t hurt the tooth-brush, 

For it’s just as good as new! 

—Oliphant Down. 


5 



6 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


ON A ROOK 

My little black boots are cleaned each day, 
But they never look half so bright 
As the two wings look 
Of the big black rook 
When he flies in the warm sunlight. 

He has no blacking or brush to use, 

But a beautiful shine he gets. 

Is it ’cos he wakes 
When the daylight breaks 
And sleeps when the big sun sets? 

—Oliphant Down. 


THANKFUL JIMMIE 

Pa’s a-pickin’ chickens over yonder in the shed, 

Aunty’s makin’ cranb’ry sauce and Sarah’s makin’ 
bread; 

Grandma’s makin’ puddin’ that is bustin’ full of 
plums, 

Ma’s a-fixin ’ stuffin ’ and a-rollin ’ out the crumbs; 

Hannah’s washin’ cel’ry and Maria’s whippin’ 
cream, 

Bridget’s peelin’ taters like you’d think she went 
by steam; 

Spicy smell of cookin’, ’nough to make a feller 
faint— 

Grandpa’s got dyspepsy—my! I’m glad I ain’t! 

Company a-comin’ from most everywheres around, 

Think there was a hundred in the parlor by the 
sound; 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 7 


Won’t the tongues be goin’ when the old folks sit 
and talk! 

Won’t we fellers holler, runnin’ races down the 
walk! 

Won’t we all be hungry when we’re waitin’ to 
begin! 

Won’t there be a racket when they bring the tur¬ 
key in! 

Grandpa won’t eat nothin’ but some mush and 
bread and tea, 

’Cause he’s got dyspepsy—say, I’m glad ’tain’t me! 

Grandma says the Pilgrims felt so sort of glad and 

gay 

’Cause the wolves and Injuns hadn’t eat ’em all, 
that they 

Made the first Thanksgivin’, and she says we all 
are bound 

To be truly thankful when the blessed day comes 
around; 

And you bet I’m thankful when I see poor Grandpa 
there 

Eatin’ bread and porridge, with the goodies every¬ 
where. 

Sick on old Thanksgivin’! that’s enough to try a 
saint— 

Grandpa’s got dyspepsy—whew! I’m glad I ain’t! 

—Joseph C. Lincoln. 


TOMMY’S SUSPICIONS 

My daddy says that when he was 
A boy he never cried 
Nor run away from school to go 
A-swimmin’; never tried 



8 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


To cut a lickin', never failed 
To do as he was bid— 

(Well, maybe daddy didn’t, then— 

But gran’ma says he did!) 

My daddy brags a lot about 
The way boys acted when 
He was a boy. (Gee! but they must 
’A’ been mos’ angels then!) 

He says he never dared to peep 
Beneath the cake-box lid— 

(Well, maybe not; but, anyway, 

My gran’ma says he did!) 

“I never tied a tin can to 
A dog’s tail in my life!” 

Says daddy. “An’ I never carved 
My ’nitials with a knife 
In great big glarin’ capitals 
On the piano lid”— 

(That’s what he told me solemnly— 

But gran’ma says he did!) 

“I never cared for circuses 

An ’ brass bands an ’ such things. ’ ’ 

(Say—honest! That’s just what he said!) 

“An’ tops an’ devil slings. 

I never waited after school 
To lick some other kid. ’ ’ 

(He says he never did those things— 

But gran’ma says he did!) 

Say! but my gran ’ma’s mighty wise; 

She knew my daddy when 
He was a little tad an’ says 
He was a terror then! 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 9 


He says he never cut up none 
The time he was a kid— 

(I know I ought to b’lieve him, but 
My gran’ma says he did!) 

—Lowell 0. Reese in “Leslie’s Weekly.” 
Reprinted by permission of Leslie-Judge 
Company. Copyright. 


MARGARETA’S TAD 

I saw a tadpole in a pond 
With little wriggly tail. 

I scooped him in my fishing-net, 

And popped him in a pail. 

I put some duckweed on the top 
With other sorts of plant; 

I did so want to hear him talk, 

But little tadpoles can’t. 

He grew two funny little legs, 

And then his tail grew short, 

Until one day I found he’d got 
No tail of any sort. 

Two other legs had sprouted out, 

His tummy, too, was thin; 

My taddy had become a frog 
With green and yellow skin. 

I took him to the pond again, 

He dived with such a flop! 

I’d sooner have one wriggly tad 
Than all the frogs that hop. 

—Oliphant Down. 



10 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


A RUSTIC FOURTH 

Oh, Fourth July’s the finest day of any in the year, 
At least that’s how it alius seems to me. 

You swell your chest an’ take a breath, an’ find 
you’re breathin’ freer, 

Ez though the air wuz full of liberty. 

The cracklin’ o’ the crackers goin’ off by packs an’ 
packs, 

The cannon boomin’ at the break o’ day, 

Jes’ sort o’ sends a joyous little shiver up your 
backs, 

An’ the only thing to holler is “ hooray.” 


The big men o’ the county give us Patrick Henry’s 
speech, 

An’ then recite the Declaration, too, 

An’ the crowd throw up their hats an’ cheer like 
blazes after each 

Patriotic orator is through. 

An’ then the silver cornet band (the township’s joy 
and pride) 

Inspirin’ airs appropriately play, 

An’ the bangin’ an’ the poppin’ start again on 
every side, 

An ’ the only thing to holler is ‘ ‘ hooray. ’ ’ 


An’ after bit when darkness comes, the fireworks 
fizz an’ spout, 

An’ Chinese lanterns twinkle in the trees, 

An’ all us kids we get our rockets an’ our pin- 
wheels out, 

We burn our pockets, tear our trouser knees, 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 11 


Ail’ then wunst more there’s music from the silver 
cornet band, 

They give us every stirrin ’ piece they play. 

It almost busts your eardrums—the noise, but ain’t 
it grand! 

An’ the only thing to holler is “hooray.” 

— T. H. S. in “The Detroit Free Press.” 


LEGEND OP EASTER EGGS 

Do you know why we color eggs at Easter time, 
and give them to our friends? It is one of the 
prettiest of the old legends about Jesus, and I will 
tell you about it. 

Everyone loved Jesus, who really knew about 
him, and he did so many wonderful things that 
after his death, people began to tell stories about 
everything connected with his life and death. Some 
of these things, told over and over as they were, 
came to be like fairy stories—not really true, but 
having generally some beautiful thought. It was 
so with this legend. 

When Jesus was taken to the cross and cruelly 
nailed to it by his enemies, the sky grew dark, the 
ground shook as with an earthquake, and the thun¬ 
der roiled, for even earth and air were horrified 
that people should kill such a good man, who had 
come to teach them love and truth and kindness. 

The fowls of the air and earth, all the little birds, 
and even the barnyard hens and chickens went to 
their roosts, afraid of the unnatural darkness. For 
two days this terror lasted, but on Easter morning, 
when the tomb opened and Jesus came out, showing 
that he could conquer even Death, the sun shone 



12 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


forth gloriously, and the birds sang as they had 
never sung before. 

And, strangest of all, when the people looked into 
the nests of the earth fowls, whose eggs had always 
before been white or dull brown, they found there 
eggs of many lovely colors—all the bright tints of 
the rainbow! 

And so, as even the hens felt the glory and hap¬ 
piness of the time, we color eggs now to symbolize 
the hope and joy of Easter Day. 

—Myrtle Koon Cherryman. 


A GARDEN JINGLE 

Three little peas, 

Three little peas, 

Three little peas in a pod. 

The pod it was green 
And fair to be seen, 

But they wanted to go abroad. 

And * * Oh! ’’ said they, 

“To be far away 
Out in the world so green! 

To flutter and fly 
Like the birds that go by! 

We would envy nor king nor queen.” 

Three little peas, 

Three little peas, 

Three peas in a pod; 

Then Harry he took them, 

And rattled and shook them, 

And fired them all abroad. 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS I 3 


The first one fell 
Right into the well, 

And learned how to float and swim, 
The second did fly 
Into Frederick’s eye, 

And greatly disgusted him. 


But the third little pea, 

When it was set free, 

Straight up in the air it flew, 

And stared in surprise 
With both of its eyes 
To find that the air was blue. 

—Laura E. Richards. 


ETHICS IN THE NURSERY 

My mother says the nicest thing 
In all the world to do 
Is giving up the things you like, 
When others want them too. 


She says when other folks enjoy 
The playthings you like best, 
It’s wonderful the joy and peace 
That crinkles in your breast. 


So I let little brother have 
My dear, dear rocking horse; 

I thought when he got tired of that 
He’d give it back, of course. 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 

But no siree, he kept it, 

And had it put away 

On his side of the nursery, 

To use again next day. 

The next thing that he wanted 
Was my little Teddy-bear, 

The head was coming loose, and so 
I really didn’t care. 

But after that he asked me for 
My fay’rite picture-book, 

And then you never would believe 
The precious things he took. 

Well, last, he asked me to give up 
The thing I loved the best, 

My fine new air gun, so, of course, 

It went with all the rest. 

I thought, ‘ 1 He ’ll soon be scared enough, 
He’ll surely give back that.” 

He shot it off, and never winked, 

And almost hit the cat. 

My things were gone, and still I did 
Not feel those peace and joys, 

So I locked little brother up, 

And took back all my toys. 

I left him yelling, while I went 
And tiptoed in to mother, 

And told her she could have for keeps 
My selfish little brother. 

—Sarah Noble Ives. 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 15 


JUST ME 

I get so tired ’cause I’m always just me, 
And I wish every day I could only be 
Some other nice chap for a week or two; 
Jack the Giant Killer or Little Boy Blue, 
Or that other Jack you have heard about, 
Who from the Christmas pie the plums 
picked out, 

But if I change from me to another, 

Then I must have some other boy’s mother 
And, oh, such a dreadful thing that would 
be, 

That I think I would rather stay just me. 


DOWNTRODDEN 

I wisht I was a grown-up man, as big as brother 
Jim; 

He smokes cigars, goes out at nights, an’ does what 
pleases him. 

He’s got a girl, an’ once a week they go down to 
the show. 

His job downtown is somethin’ swell; he makes a 
lot, I know. 

Pa says that Jim’s just like he was, an’ surely will 
advance; 

But better still than all them things, he wears 
Long 

Pants! 

I dassent let ’em see me smoke; an’ once I did 
inhale, 

Ma made me swaller castor ile because I looked so 
pale. 



16 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 

An’ when my chum an’ me sneaked out a catching 
fish last week, 

Pa made me stay in bed all day fer failin’ in the 
crick! 

They laughed because I fell in love. A kid ain’t 
got no chance. 

Oh, gee! I wish ’at I was Jim an’ wore 
Long 

Pants! 

—Herman Da Costa, in “Judge.” 


ELDER BROWN’S BIG HIT 

Pa and Ma are Methodists, and all us children, too, 

And Pa’s a piller in the church, and owns the 
whole front pew, 

And Pa and Mr. Watkins, who’s a big, bald-headed 
man, 

Go round with little baskets getting all the cash 
they can. 

The preacher always talks with Pa when meeting 
is dismissed, 

And when there’s extra doings Pa’s invited to as¬ 
sist. 

And our Presiding Elder, Rev. Ebenezer Brown, 

’Most always stays at our house every time he 
comes to town. 

I used to be afraid of him. He seemed so big and 
tall, 

And kind of sad and solemn-like, I couldn’t smile 
at all. 

We children hardly dared to speak when he was in 
the house 

But everyone just slipped about as quiet as a mouse. 



SELECTIONS FOE SMALL SEE A FEES 17 


Ma said we needn’t feel afraid, that he was just 
the same 

As Pa or any other man, except a bigger name; 

But we all feared that he could see just every 
thought we had, 

And so we kept a-trying not to think of something 
bad. 


But one time in the morning when the family was 
at prayers, 

And Elder Brown and all of us, kneeling by our 
chairs, 

We heard Old Rover—he’s our dog—begin to whine 
and growl, 

And then Old Tabby—she’s our cat—well, she be¬ 
gan to yowl. 

’Twas way out in the kitchen that the two com¬ 
menced to spat; 

But in a minute there they came a-tearing, and the 
cat 

Ran right up Pa’s bent back until she reached his 
shoulders, where 

She just stopped and said to Rover, “You just touch 
me if you dare! ’ ’ 


We knew that there’d be trouble. Rover is so very 
proud, 

And sort of overbearing that he never has allowed 

A cat to dare to boss him, so he made a great big 
leap, 

And he and Pa and Tabby they all tumbled in a 
heap. 

Oh, say but it was awful! I saw brother Henry grin, 

And sister Lucy snickered, but it seemed a dread¬ 
ful sin, 


18 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 

Till Elder Brown laughed right out loud to see the 
funny fuss, 

And since that time we’ve liked him, ’cause we 
know he’s just like us. 

—Nixon Waterman in “The 
Saturday Evening Post” 


A CHILD’S CENSUS 

Utceptin’ ma an’ pa an’ me 

An’ bruvver—yes, an’ Marfy, too; 

She lives here—she’s our cook, you see— 
I bet ’ere’s somepin’ you can’t do! 

I bet you can’t tell who else is 
A-livin ’ in this house wiv us. 

’Ere’s Mister Whizzy Whizzlewhizz 
’At hollers when we make a fuss. 

Sometimes he’s hidin’ on th’ stairs, 

An’ when us boys is quarrelsome 
He poun’s th ’ wall, an ’ he ist rares 
Aroun ’ an ’ says he’s go ’ to come 
An’ hesh us up, an’ mebbe take 
Us off to ’at ’ere place o’ his 
Where he has hi-erd help to make 
Good boys for Mister Whizzlewhizz. 

An’ nen behime th’ kitchen range 
Is where ol ’ Bimblehammer stays, 

An ’ Marfy says ’ey ’ll be a change 
Or else he’ll take me one these days, 
Because I take th’ lifter thing 

An ’ whack an ’ hammer on th ’ doors 
An’ nen—ist when I bang an’ bing— 

01 ’ Bimblehammer he ist roars! 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 19 


An’ nen in my ma’s desk’s a place 
Where boys ’ey mustn’t play wiv ink, 
Because ’ey get it on ’eir face 
An’ if they do, quick as a wink 
W ’y, Missus Ketchemfoolin, she 
Comes out o’ one ’em cubbyholes 
An’ grabs th’ boys, ’fore they can see, 

An ’ whips ’em— hard !—wiv fishin ’ poles! 

’At’s all ’at lives here where we’re at, 
Utceptin’ pa an’ ma an’ me, 

An’ bruvver, Marfy, an’ th’ cat— 

An’ sometimes in th’ night I see 
01’ Bimblehammer point his han’ 

An’ hear him sayin’: “There he is!” 

To Missus Ketchemfoolin an’ 

To Mister Whizzy Whizzlewhizz! 

—W. D. Nesbit, in “Life.” 


WHAT MIGHT HAPPEN 

Archibald Edward Theophilus Jones 

Had a way of expressing his feeling in moans, 

In sobs and in sighs, 

And in dolorous cries; 

The water continually ran from his eyes; 

Upon every occasion he “started the bawl” 

At the silliest trifle, or at nothing at all. 

Till his mother declared, “Why Archibald, dear, 

If you are not more careful, you won’t leave a 
tear! ’’ 


But Archibald paid to this counsel no heed; 

He continued to roar and cry as before. 

The family wished themselves deaf, yes, indeed— 



20 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


Although certainly, some of them wished he was 
dumb, 

For surely among things excessively trying 
May be reckoned the child that forever is crying. 


Well, the worst of the story remains to be told. 

He was weeping one morning because it was cold— 
When he felt a strange quiver, 

A shake and a shiver; 

It began at the point where his eyes met his nose, 
And ran through his back-bone quite down to his 
toes. 

Astonished, he stopped for an instant his wail, 

And when to renew it he tried—ah, sad tale! 

Alas, how can I tell of the fate that befell? 

This poor little boy found he’d cried himself dry, 
Not a tear could he squeeze from his dear little eye; 
Though he struggled his hardest, ’twas useless to 
try. 

Vain, all vain! and an unsatisfactory cry 
Is the one where you haven’t a tear in your eye! 


So, children, be warned by his fate 
Before ’tis too late; 

Don’t cry for small matters, 

Slight bruises and batters; 

Or, indeed, who can say, 

It might happen some day, 

When some weighty occasion for crying should rise, 
You’d be left, like young Jones, with no tears in 
your eyes. 

—From “100 Choice Selections , No. 
31” Used by permission of The 
Penn Publishing Company, Phila. 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 21 


THE WAY TO THE FAIRIES 

I know, I know where the fairies go, 

For I saw them just to-night— 

Dancing away through the shadows gray 
Down into the garden bright. 

I heard, I heard each nesting bird 
Murmur as they went by, 

And the voice of the breeze, when it told the 
trees 

To bow, as their train drew nigh. 

They passed, they passed. And the shadow 
cast 

On the path grew dark and chill. 

I ’ve lost the way, and I cannot stay, 

For I’m hunting the fairies still! 

But I ’ll wait, I ’ll wait at our garden gate, 
Where they vanished in shadows gray! 

For I’m sure I know where the fairies go— 

I have only forgot the way! 

—Mary Dickerson Donahey in “Cartoons 
Magazine” Reprinted by courtesy 
of The Author. 


OPPORTUNITY 

Granny’s gone a-visitin’—seen huh git huh shawl, 
While I was a-hidin ’ down hime de gahden wall; 
Seen huh git huh bunnit on, seen huh tie de strings, 
An’ I’se gone to dreamin’ now, ’bout dem cakes an’ 
tings, 



22 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


On de shelf behime de do’—Mussy! what a teas’! 

Soon as she gits out o ’ sight, I can eat in peace. 

I’se been waitin’ fo’ a week jus’ fo’ dis yeah chance. 

Lawsy! When I gits in dah I’ll jes’ sholy dance. 

Lemon pie an’ gingah cake—lemme set an’ t’ink: 

Vinegah an’ sugah, too, dat’ll mek me drink. 

Ef dey’s one t’ing dat I loves mos’ pa’tic’lahly, 

It’s a-eatin’ sweet t’ings, an’ a-drinkin’ sangaree. 

Lawsy! Won’t po’ granny raih w’en she see dat 
shelf ? 

When I t’inks about huh face, I’se mos’ shame’ 
mahse’f! 

Well, she’s gone, an’ heah I is, back behime de do’. 

Look heah! Gran’s done s’pected me! Dain’t no 
sweets no mo’. 

Ev’y sweet is hid erway—job’s jes’ done up 
brown— 

Pusson’d t’ink dat some one t’ought dere was 
thieves eround. 

Dat jes’ breaks mah heart in two—Oh, how bad I 
feel, 

Jes’ to t’ink mah own granma b’lieve dat I ’ud 
steal! 

—Paul Lawrence Dunbar. Reprinted 
by permission of J. L. Nichols & Co. 


MARGARETA’S TRUANT 

I chased a little sunbeam 
That played upon the grass; 
I caught that little sunbeam 
And put him in a glass. 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 2 3 


I looked at him and clapped my hands; 

I thought his merry light 
Would be a very jolly thing, 

To look at in the night. 

But when the day was all but done, 

The sun was very cruel. 

He called from out beyond the hills, 
And stole my little jewel. 

I couldn’t stop the merry rogue, 

But as he slipped away 
He said, “ I’ve other lands to light, 

I really must not stay. 

“In far Australia, little mites 
For me begin to yearn. 

So go to sleep and dream of me; 
To-morrow I’ll return.” 

—Oliphant Down . 


NIDD NODDY LAND 

In Nidd Noddy land there are beautiful streams, 
And beautiful mountains, too; 

And beautiful castles built of moonbeams, 

And color’d a beautiful blue. 

There all the Nidd Noddies have beautiful sheep 
That gambol in beautiful dells; 

That gambol and run thro’ the valleys and leap, 
And drink at the Nidd Noddy wells. 

There the Sandman is king, and the queen is Bo 
Peep, 

In beautiful Nidd Noddy land 
There plays in the garden and Palace of Sleep 
A wonderful Nidd Noddy band. 



24 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


For the Nidd Noddies fair, or the Nidd Noddies 
brown, 

'There are beautiful Nidd Noddy cars; 

And ev’ry Nidd Noddy has a beautiful crown 
Of beautiful, beautiful stars. 

Then rock-a-by baby, the good fairies will keep 
My beautiful Nidd Noddy true; 

King Sandman will bring you to the Castle of Sleep 
That’s color’d a beautiful blue. 

—Henry June Patee in “Detroit Free Press.” 


MY WONDERFUL DAD 

My Daddy, he lived in a wonderful house, and he 
played with such wonderful boys; 

They were neighbors of his; and the attic they had 
was a storehouse of wonderful toys; 

He slept every night in a wonderful bed, with a tick 
that his grandmother made 
From the feathers of geese that she picked all her¬ 
self, and so soft he was almost afraid 
He would sink out of sight when he got into bed; 

he could look from his window right out 
And see where the vines used to bring him sweet 
flowers just by crawling along up the spout; 
And he could look over and see where the woods 
and the squirrels and birds used to be. 

He must have had wonderful times where he lived 
from the way that he tells them to me! 

My Daddy, he caught the most wonderful fish— 
there were thin ones and fat ones and round, 
And some were so long that their tails when he 
walked would be dragging right down on the 
ground; 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 25 

He scraped off their scales on a log that he had at 
the woodpile, and said he would know 
That log just as well if he saw it to-day, although 
that was a long time ago. 

He used to dig worms of a wonderful size—he has 
never seen any like those 

Since he was grown up; and on Saturdays he wore 
a wonderful old suit of clothes 
And a hat that an uncle of his had forgot, for on 
Friday he did all his sums, 

And Saturday always he went off somewhere with 
his one or two wonderful chums. 


My Daddy, he lived in a wonderful place when he 
was a twelve-year-old lad, 

For no matter what kind of a day it might be there 
was always some fun to be had. 

He learned how to swim in a wonderful creek, where 
all of the whole summer long 
The water was warm, and the springboard they had 
it was springy and slippery and strong. 

And on the way home they found berries to eat, and 
he said he remembers them well, 

And it didn’t seem nearly a mile to back home, for 
there always was something to tell 
That took up the time both for him and his chums, 
and sometimes they came home a new way, 
And always all summer they had it all planned 
what to do on the next Saturday. 


My Daddy, he said he could go back there now and 
could take me as straight as a string 
To all of the wonderful places he knew—where the 
first flowers came in the spring; 


26 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


Where you almost were sure to catch fish in the 
brook—where the nuts would come dropping 
in fall; 

Where the most berries were on the way to back 
home—he is sure he remembers them all. 

He knows where the squirrels were most apt to be, 
and the lane where the hay wagon comes; 

And said he’d find names in the bark of a tree that 
were cut there by him and his chums 

Twenty-five years ago, and the log where they sat 
when they found the big garter-snake curled. 

My Daddy, he must have had wonderful times in 
the splendidest place in the world! 

— J. W. Foley, reprinted by permission 
of E. P. Button & Co., Publishers. 


THE LOST PURSE 

I remember the excitement and the terrible alarm 

That worried everybody, when William broke his 
arm, 

And how frantic Pa and Ma got only just the other 
day 

When they couldn’t find the baby coz he’d up and 
walked away. 

But I’m sure there’s no excitement that our house 
has ever shook 

Like the times Ma can’t remember where she’s put 
her pocketbook. 

When the laundry man is standing at the door an ’ 
wants his pay, 

Ma hurries in to get it, an’ the fun starts right 
away. 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 2 7 

She hustles to the sideboard coz she knows exactly 
where 

She can put her hand right on it, but alas! it isn’t 
there. 

She tries the parlor table an’ she goes up-stairs to 
look, 

An’ once more she can’t remember where she put 
her poeketbook. 

She tells us that she had it just a half an hour ago, 

And now she cannot find it, though she’s hunted 
high and low; 

She’s searched the kitchen cupboard and the bureau 
drawers up-stairs, 

An ’ it’s not behind the sofa nor beneath the parlor 
chairs. 

She makes us kids get busy searching every little 
nook, 

An’ this time she says she’s certain that she’s lost 
her poeketbook. 

She calls Pa at the office an ’ he laughs, I guess, for 
then 

She always mumbles something ’bout the heart¬ 
lessness of men. 

She calls to mind a peddler who came to the kitchen 
door, 

And she’s certain from his whiskers an ’ the shabby 
clothes he wore, 

An’ his dirty shirt and collar that he must have 
been a crook, 

An’ she’s positive that feller came an’ got her 
poeketbook. 

But at last she alius finds it in some queer and 
funny spot, 

Where she’d put it in a hurry, an’ somehow clean 
forgot; 


28 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


An’ she heaves a sigh of gladness, an’ she says, 
“Well, I declare, 

I would take an oath this minute that I never put 
it there.” 

An’ we’re peaceable and quiet till next time Ma 
goes to look, 

An’ finds she can’t remember where she put her 
pocketbook. 

—Edgar A. Guest, in “The Path to Home.” 
Copyright , 1919. Reprinted by special 
permission. 


JESSIE’S VALENTINE 

(Come in with a valentine in your hand. Take it 
out of the envelope and look it over while talking.) 

Who could have sent me this valentine, 

With a Cupid and great, big heart, 

And a verse ’bout loving the sweetest girl ? 

It can’t be Cousin Art. 

I do believe it’s Cyril Drake, 

The handsomest boy in class; 

The girls all nod and smile at him, 

Whenever they see him pass. 

At recess we write him notes and rhymes. 

He likes May more ’n the rest; 

But rather than anyone else’s best girl, 

I’d be his second best! 

I think he likes me next to May. 

Oh, when I show her this— 

This valentine he sent to me— 

She’ll be an angry Miss. 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 29 


I can’t quite read his writing, though, 

His letters are so queer. 

Oh, fudge! It says, “From Uncle John 
To little Jessie, dear!” 

—Helen Chaffee Workman. 


JANE JONES 

Jane Jones keeps talkin’ to me all the time, 

An’ says you must make it a rule 

To study your lessons hid work hard ’nd learn, 

An’ never be absent from school. 

Remember the story of Elihu Burritt, 

An’ how he clum up to the top, 

Got all the knowledge ’at he ever had 
Down in a blacksmithing shop ? 

Jane Jones she honestly said it was so! 

Mebbe he did— 

I dunno! 

0 ’ course what’s a-keepin ’ me ’way from the top, 
Is not never havin’ no blacksmithing shop. 

She said ’at Ben Franklin was awfully poor, 

But full of ambition an’ brains; 

An ’ studied philosophy all his hull life, 

An ’ see what he got for his pains! 

He brought electricity out of the sky, 

With a kite an’ a bottle an’ key, 

An’ we’re owing him more’n anyone else 
For all the bright lights ’at we see. 

Jane Jones she honestly said it was so! 

Mebbe he did— 

I dunno! 



30 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


Jane Jones said Abe Lincoln had no books at all 
An’ used to split rails when a boy; 

An’ General Grant was a tanner by trade 
An ’ lived way out in Ill ’nois. 

So when the great war in the South first broke out 
He stood on the side o ’ the right, 

An’ when Lincoln called him to take charge o’ 
things, 

He won nearly every blamed fight. 

Jane Jones she honestly said it was so! 

Mebbe he did— 

I dunno! 

Still I ain’t to blame, not by a big sight, 

For I ain’t never had any battles to fight. 

She said ’at Columbus was out at the knees 
When he first thought up his big scheme, 

An’ told all the Spaniards ’nd Italians, too, 

An’ all of ’em said ’twas a dream. 

But Queen Isabella jest listened to him, 

’Nd pawned all her jewels o’ worth, 

’Nd bought him the Santa Maria ’nd said, 

‘‘Go hunt up the rest o’ the earth! ’’ 

Jane Jones she honestly said it was so! 

Mebbe he did— 

I dunno! 

O ’ course that may be, but then you must allow 
They ain’t no land to discover jest now! 

—Ben King , by permission of 
the “Southern Magazine.” 


GOOD DAY 

French children greet you with, “Bon jour”; 
“Buono jiorno,” Italians say; 

“Gutten tag,” says the German maid demure; 
The English say, “Good day.” 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 31 

Now, children, if you wear a smile, 

No matter which you say; 

’Tis better by your deeds the while 
To make a real good day. 

—Helen Chaffee Workman, in 
“The Independent.” 


GITTIN’ SLEEPY 

It’s gittin’ dark. Got all my chores done up. 

Jis’ settin’ here a-restin’ fer a spell 
’N’ listenin’. D’ye hear that funny skreek? 
That’s pa a-drawin’ water at th’ well. 

Gee whiz! I’m gittin’ sleepy! 

Hain’t washed my feet. Guess they don’t need 
it bad. 

Hear them ole crickets holler in th ’ yard ? 
What good is crickets ? Hi, there goes a bat! 
Hear Rover snorin’? Hain’t he breathin’ 
hard? 

Gee whiz! I’m gittin’sleepy! 

That little tree toad’s yellin’ like he feels 
As big’s a bullfrog. Don’t ye smell that hay? 
Wisht I ’uz layin ’ in it. Feel that wind ? 

I like ter hev it blow me hair that way. 

Gee whiz! I’m gittin’ sleepy! 

It’s awful long sence supper. Don’t I wisht 
I had a piece o’ huckleberry pie! 

I’d like ter be a cow, what chews its cud 
’N ’ sleeps same time. I wisht ’at I c’d fly! 

Gee whiz! I’m gittin ’ sleepy! 

—William R. Lighton, in “Truth.” 



32 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


“GET-UP-IT” 

The times I have to go to school— 
That’s ’most the days, about, 

When seven o ’clock it comes along, 

* ‘ Get up, you kid, ’ ’ they shout. 

When all have had a try at it— 

Pa, Ma and Brother Bill— 

Then that old seven-fifteen train 
Starts puffing up the hill. 

And then I just have got to move! 

‘ ‘ Get up, you lazy lump, ’ ’ 

It seems as if it shouts at me, 

* ‘ Get up! Get up it! Get up! 

Get up! Get up it! Hump! ’ ’ 

But Saturday it quite forgot 
There was no school that day, 

And when it started in to puff, 

I had the laugh my way. 

I just turned over in the bed, 

‘ ‘ Get up, you lazy lump, 

It’s you, not me to-day that must 
Get up! Get up it! Get up! 

Get up! Get up it! Hump! ’ ’ 

—Helen Chaffee Workman. 


THE FAMILY BELONGINGS 

Gran’pa belongs to the G. A. R. an’ likewise 
R F D * 

Gran’ma is W. C. T. U. an’ W. R. C. 

Father belongs to the S. 0. V., 0. K. an’ I. 0. U.; 
He’s R. W. S. G. W. an’ W. G. G. too. 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 33 


Ma she belongs to everything that’s doin’ at the 
church; 

She’s in three kinds of circles an’ two travels an’ 
research. 

My brother Thomas he belongs to the Y. M. C. A. 

gym, 

An ’ half a dozen clubs have got a tag on him. 

Sister Cornelia she belongs to the Thespian 
Amateurs— 

These fencin’ foils an’ golf sticks an’ that tennis 
bat are hers. 

My other sister, Portia, she was goin ’ to belong 

To Votes for Women party; but, before she got it 
strong, 

Young Lawyer Thompson, ’cross the street, got 
callin’ ev’ry night, 

An’ from the way he hugs her, she belongs to him 
all right. 

Ther’s nothin’ left for me to join, an’ ’s far as I 
can see 

I guess, exceptin’ Sunday School, I just belong 
to me. 

—Frederick Moxon, in “Judge.” 


THE DANCING LESSON 

I crept up-stairs when I heard a noise, 

And there in the room where they keep my toys, 
The White Clown Doll, as bold as brass, 

Was teaching a midnight dancing class. 

Said the White Clown Doll, ‘ ‘ Do just like me, 
Left foot forward, one, two, three. 

Two-step sideways, point your toe, 

A hop and a skip, and away you go! ” 



34 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


The Football Doll, he tried and tried, 

But he could only kick, and he never could slide, 
And the Big Dutch Doll, in the gingham dress 
Was most too heavy to dance, I guess. 

The Kewpie Doll was the funniest sight, 

One foot went left while the other went right. 
And the Little Pink Doll began to hop, 

But hadn’t a notion of when to stop. 

And the Youngest Dolls (there are two of those) 
Just wouldn’t hold straight nor point their toes, 
But giggled and romped and were awful bad, 
And the White Clown Doll he was awful mad! 

Then the Blue Ribbon Dog went, “Wow—wow— 
wow! ’ ’ 

And everyone danced as they best knew how, 

Till they dropped right down as the clock struck 
four 

All in a heap on the playroom floor. 

—Eliza Grove, in (< One Thousand Poems 
for Children .” Reprinted by permis¬ 
sion of George W. Jacobs & Company. 


GOOD RESOLUTIONS 

It ain’t no use to try to be good. Nobody never 
understands. You see, it’s this way. Being as it 
was New Years, I thought I would turn over a 
clean, new leaf, like our Sunday School teacher told 
us about, and make a lot of resolutions. Here is 
the resolutions what I made: 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 35 

1— I will wash my hands and teeth three times a 

day. 

2— I will count twenty before I say an angry 

word. 

3— I will not fight under no consideration. 

4— I will be kind to dumb animals. 

5— I will do one kind act each day. 

Well, the next morning, which was New Years, I 
got up all ready to carry out my resolutions. The 
first thing was to wash. Now, I got an old maid 
aunt what lives to our house. She’s thin as a 
broomstick. She’s got some little curls all round 
her face, but I’ve noticed they are never there at 
breakfast. She’s got a big boxful of towels with 
crocheted edges, and pillows with red buttercups 
and pink violets and purple roses. She calls it her 
hope chest, and she ain’t never forgave me since she 
heard me call it her “Lord knows when” chest. 
She’s always making something for her hope chest, 
or buying something for her hope chest, or think¬ 
ing of something that would be nice for her hope 
chest. She’s forty years old, and she ain’t never 
had a beau, but she’s looking out for a chance to get 
married. I don’t think she’ll ever have one. So I 
thought somebody might as well get some use out 
of her hope chest things. So I went to her bedroom 
and got a towel with a pink crocheted edge. Then 
I saw some perfuipe on the dresser, and I dabbed 
some on my handkerchief, and was just going to 
beat it, when I saw a curl sticking out of a drawer. 
I opened it and there were Aunt Jane’s little curls. 
So I picked them up and took them along. I washed, 
and I was thinking how pleased mamma would 
be at me washing before breakfast. While I 
was wiping, I heard someone coming up the 
stairs and went to the door. It was Aunt 
Jane. She gave one screech and grabbed the 


36 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


towel. She called me a thief and a robber 
and a sneak and I don’t know what all, and 
then she smelled the perfume and started in again. 
I was afraid mamma would hear, so I said I was 
sorry and would never touch her things again. She 
went away and I was ready to wash my teeth. I 
haven’t no regular teeth brush, owing to not using 
one regular. There was one in the bathroom 
though, so I got that. While I was washing my 
teeth, Uncle Jim came in. I thought he’d be pleased, 
being the one who had advised me to, but he grabbed 
me and laid me across his knee and whaled me good 
and proper. When he got through he set me down 
and roared, “You young scoundrel, what do you 
mean by using my tooth-brush ? ” I told him I was 
turning over a new leaf, but he said I was imperti¬ 
nent, and he would speak to my father. Then he 
went down-stairs too. 

While I was putting on my collar, I dropped my 
collar button and it rolled under the dresser. I 
tried to reach it by lying down and I was getting 
madder and madder, but I remembered my resolu¬ 
tion, but just as I said twenty, I got hold of it and 
rolled over and hit my funny bone and said 
“dummit.” I felt better for a minute, and then 
I heard grandma outside the door saying, “Wil¬ 
liam” real slow and reproving. When I was going 
down to breakfast, she called me into her room and 
talked to me about half an hour. 

When I got down-stairs they were all eating and 
mamma got up just as I sat down. I was reaching 
for my third muffin when I heard her at the door. 
She said, “William, where did you get these?” and 
held up Aunt Jane’s curls. Uncle Jim coughed 
and got up and Aunt Jane spilled her coffee, and 
Dad took me by the collar and led me outside. 

When Dad got through with me, I didn’t feel 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 37 

like sitting down to eat no more breakfast, so I went 
for a walk. I was strolling down the alley and I 
saw Jakie Smithers coming. He bumped into me, 
but I didn’t pay no attention. Jakie is always 
picking a fight. He came back and bumped me 
again, and then he started to punch me. I just 
said to myself, “I will not fight,” and turned 
around towards home. I saw a dog coming down 
the alley and it was most as thin as Aunt Jane, and 
its ribs stuck out all over. I was pretty mad by 
this time, but I remembered I was going to be kind 
to dumb animals, so I went in and got down the 
cookie jar. There was just ten left, so I took six 
and went back to the alley. That dog was hungry 
all right, because he gobbled them down, me only 
taking a couple of bites. The dog went on down 
the alley and just as he turned the corner, Katie 
came out. She said she had just enough for dinner, 
and now I’d stole some and she didn’t know what 
she would do. I told her I took them to feed to a 
poor hungry dog, but she said she never saw me 
feed cookies to anybody but myself. Mamma heard 
her and came out to see what the matter was. Katie 
told her and she said she didn’t know what was the 
matter with me. I acted worse than ever, and I 
could go up to my room and needn’t come down to 
dinner. 

I went up, and laid down on the floor and read 
Robinson Crusoe. At noon I could hear them all 
laughing and talking, and Katie brought me up a 
bowl of milk and a slice of bread. I ate it, and 
then I guess I went to sleep. Then I woke up, and 
mamma was at the door saying if I wanted to I 
could come down now. I got up and went down. 
Everything was quiet. Grandma was taking a nap 
and mamma was going calling, and Sis was at her 
chum’s, and Aunt Jane had gone to see another old 


38 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


maid with a hope chest, and Dad and Uncle Jim 
were at a dog show. It was pretty late and I 
happened to think I had not done any kind deed 
that day. So I decided to put cigar ashes on 
grandma’s geraniums, which keeps the bugs off and 
is as kind an act as any. So I got the ash tray, and 
there was a half-smoked cigar on it, so I took that 
out and laid it on the table, and then I put the 
ashes on the geraniums and went into Dad’s den. 
I was sitting in a big chair looking into the fire, 
when all of a sudden somebody turned the lights on, 
and there was Dad. He said, “William, come here. 
How often have I told you not to smoke ? ” I said 
I never had smoked since the time he caught me at 
it, and he said, “Don’t think I didn’t see you throw 
down a cigar when I came in. And there are ashes 
on your coat. The odor is all over the room. Don’t 
say a word. Go to your room, and don’t come down 
to supper.” And they were going to have ice¬ 
cream ! 

While they were eating, Katie brought me up a 
dish of ice-cream. Only I mustn’t let anybody 
know. I just had finished that when up came Sis. 
“Oh, William, here’s a dish of ice-cream. Don’t 
tell anybody, though.” I promised and was just 
beginning to enjoy myself, when Grandma tapped 
on the door. She just couldn’t bear to think of her 
boy missing all the fun, so she brought me a nice, 
big dish of ice-cream. “Don’t speak about it, Wil¬ 
liam.” The next was Aunt Jane, and just to show 
she didn’t have any hard feelings, she had brought 
me a dish of ice-cream. Only I mustn’t breathe it 
to a soul. She was no more than gone, when Uncle 
Jim shoved a dish through the door. “Too bad, 
old sport, but here’s some ice-cream. Mum’s the 
word, old chap. ” Well, I sat on the bed and looked 
at those dishes. Then I started to eat. I had 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 39 

finished two dishes when mamma pushed open the 
door. She was afraid she had been rather severe 
and she knew how I loved ice-cream, but I mustn’t 
tell. I was almost through, when Dad came up. 
He was awful red, and he told me to be a good boy 
and never tell mamma what he brought me, and set 
down a dish of ice-cream on the floor. I threw that 
ice-cream out of the window at a cat which was 
howling, and tore up my resolutions. Now, I’ve 
only got one, and I made it before I went to sleep. 
Here is what I resolved: I will never, under no 
consideration, make any more New Year’s resolu¬ 
tions. 

—Carlotta Crofts, in (< TJie Retina 


ABOUT THE FAIRIES 

Pray, where are the little bluebells gone, 
That lately bloomed in the wood? 

Why, the little fairies have each taken one, 
And put it on for a hood. 


And where are the pretty grass-stalks gone, 
That waved in the summer breeze ? 

Oh, fairies have taken them every one, 

To plant in their gardens, like trees. 


And where are the great big bluebottles gone, 
That buzzed in their busy pride? 

Oh, the fairies have caught them every one, 
And have broken them in, to ride. 



40 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


A BALLAD OF BRAVERY 

To spread his fame, I’ll tell about 
A little lad of ten, 

Who, with no weapon, put to rout 
An army of brave men! 

The glittering troops attacked one day 
A quiet, sleepy town, 

And filled the people with dismay 
As swiftly they came down. 

They all prepared to hide or run, 

With faces ashen pale. 

All, did I say? No, all save one— 

The hero of my tale. 

“Cowards!” he cried, with flashing eye, 
“They pillage and destroy, 

And yet you men stand idly by! 

I’ll lead you, though a boy!” 

He charged alone; the troops stood still; 

He bravely knocked them down! 

And thus by his heroic will, 

He saved the little town. 

Lest this you think be hardly true, 

It should be understood 
That, though the boy was real like you, 
The rest were made of wood! 


THE BEAUTIFUL DAY 

“We did not mean to do wrong,” she said, 

With a mist in her eyes of tears unshed, 

Like the haze of the midsummer weather. 

“We thought you would all be as happy as we; 
But something ’most always goes wrong, you see, 
When we have our play-time together. 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 41 


‘Before the dew on the grass was dry, 

We were out this morning, Reuben and I, 
And truly I think that never— 

For all that you and mamma may say— 
Will there be again such a happy day 
In all the days of forever! 


‘ The sunshine was yellow as gold, and the skies 
Were as sleepy and blue as the baby’s eyes; 

And a soft little wind was blowing 
And rocking the daisy-buds to and fro. 

We played that the meadows were white with 
snow, 

Where the crowding blossoms were growing. 


‘ The birds and the bees flew about in the sun, 

And there was not a thing that was sorry—not 
one, 

That dear morning down in the meadow— 

But we could not bear to think—Reuben and I— 
That our beautiful day would be done, by and by, 
And our sunshiny world dark with shadow. 


‘So into the hall we quietly stepped. 

It was cool and still, and a sunbeam crept 
Through the door, and the birds were singing. 
We stole as softly as we could go 
To the clock at the foot of the stairs, you know, 
With its big, bright pendulum swinging. 


‘We knew that the sun dropped down out of 
heaven, 

And brought the night when the clock struck 
seven, 


42 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SEE ALTERS 


For so I had heard mamma saying. 

And we turned back the hands till they pointed 
to ten, 

And our beautiful day began over again, 

And then ran away to our playing. 

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you the rest,” she said, 
With a sorrowful droop of the fair little head, 
And the misty brown eyes overflowing. 

“We had only been out such a few minutes more, 
When, just as it always had happened before, 

We found that our dear day was going. 

“The shadows grew long, and the blue skies were 
gray, 

And the bees and the butterflies all flew away, 
And the dew on the grass was falling. 

The sun did not shine in the sky any more, 

And the birds did not sing, and away by the door 
We heard mamma’s voice to us calling. 

‘ 4 But the night will be done, I suppose, by and by; 
And we have been thinking—Reuben and I— 
That perhaps”—and she smiled through her sor¬ 
row— 

‘ ‘ Perhaps it may be, after all, better so, 

For if to-day lasted forever, you know, 

There would never be any to-morrow.” 


BOBBERY 

It’s just a bit of a story, sir, that don’t sound 
much to strangers, but I’d like to tell you about it, 
if you have time to listen, for they’ve all forgotten 
Bobbery down here, except me. 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 43 

Bobbery? Yes, sir, that was his name. As to 
father or mother, we never had any, I think; never 
had anyone in the wide world to belong to, except 
our two selves—Bobbery and me. I was the eldest 
—two long years older than him; but, then, I was 
blind, you see, so the two years didn’t count for 
much, and Bobbery got ahead of me after God shut 
me out of the world, but Bobbery was always such 
a good lad to me that perhaps I didn’t miss so much 
after all. 

By and by Bobbery took to working at his trade 
—shoe black, sir, but he found time to make a great 
deal of me, just the same, did Bobbery, along of 
being blind, you see, and I was rare proud of him. 
You don’t know what it is, sir, to sit alone in the 
dark all day, and, then, on a sudden to hear a fellow 
call out, “Here we are again! Come down and feel 
the sun set, and we’ll count the coppers! ” It 
would make you love anyone, sir, who had a voice 
like that. 

Perhaps you didn’t happen to be in Kingstown, 
sir, last spring, when the floods had risen and the 
land was under water for miles around. Bobbery 
had to wade a little going down to his work, but he 
rather liked it, he said; and he used to tuck up his 
trousers, and call back to me and laugh as the 
water crept around his feet. 

I used to sit on the window-sill to feel the sun, 
and, if I listened very hard, I could hear the ripple- 
ripple of the shallow water at every step that Bob¬ 
bery took, and it had a pleasant sound and made a 
kind of company feeling; but when he was out of 
hearing, and it still kept rippling up against our 
walls, the company feeling went away and left me 
lonely. Sometimes I thought the water hateful, 
because it lay for so very long between me and Bob¬ 
bery. 


44 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 

Well, once I was sitting alone on the window-sill, 
and the day was very quiet, so quiet that I did not 
hear the little rippling waves, and in the quiet I 
grew frightened at last, and stretched out my hands 
across the sill to feel my way down. I felt some¬ 
thing that made me shiver and draw back out of the 
sunshine. I felt the water rippling almost up to 
the level of the sill, and I was quite alone and Bob¬ 
bery would never know. 

How long I sat there I don’t know, but I think it 
must have been for hours, for I felt the sunshine 
slanting on my face, and the water rushing around 
me before I moved again. I was hungry, too, but, 
when I tried to get down and reach the cupboard, 
the water took me off my feet and I crept back to 
the bed and onto the shelves of the dresser to be out 
of the way. 

I said my prayers two or three times, and I said 
some prayers for Bobbery, too, for I knew he would 
be sorry when he found me some day where I had 
died all alone and in the dark. And then I tried 
to think how things looked from our window, with 
the water sweeping up to the very sill, and the red 
sunset lying on it, and beyond, the pretty town and 
the steeple with the clock; and I thought it was 
better for me to die than Bobbery, for he could see. 
And yet I wanted to live. I wanted to hear Bob¬ 
bery’s voice again. 

Somebody did remember me at last, and came 
back—somebody whose laughing voice across the 
waters was nearer every minute—somebody whose 
hands were on my shoulders, whose eyes, I felt, 
were on my face—somebody who had never forgot¬ 
ten me—Bobbery! “ Bobbery! Bobbery!” I 
cried, and I stretched out my arms to him. 

Bobbery said: “I came over in a tub. Only 
think! Such a lark! But, as I climbed in at the 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 45 

window, our tub drifted away, and however we’re 
to get over I can’t tell.” 

“You must think of something,” I said. “Bob¬ 
bery, it was a long day.” 

“Why, of course it was without you. Come 
along. The river’s rising all the while.” 

“Is it very wide? ’’ 

“Oh, not more’n a good stretch from here to the 
dry land, but deep; over six feet, I should say, and 
rising. ’ ’ 

“But the bed, Bobbery, and the other things? ” 

“Well, we must just leave them until it’s all 
right again.” 

“Will it ever be all right?” 

‘ ‘ Why, yes, of course. ’ ’ He was such a splendid 
chap, sir, was Bobbery, and so clever! He took the 
two chairs that were drifting about the room and 
tied them close together, and then we waded across 
to the window and stood upon the sill. 

“I think it’s jolly good fun,” said Bobbery. 
* ‘ If you could only see how your boat’s bobbing up 
and down in front here! Get in quick, or I can’t 
hold her. Here, port her helm, or something! Are 
you all right?” 

‘ ‘ It’s splendid! Come along! ’ ’ But when Bob¬ 
bery put his foot onto the unsteady raft, she went 
down on one side with a plunge. 

“Never mind, you’ve just got to push yourself 
ashore with this pole, as straight as you can go, and 
I ’ll follow. ’ ’ 

I thought that was true, or I never would have 
left Bobbery. I took the pole he gave me and 
pushed out on the restless waters that I felt were 
blood-red where the setting sun had touched them. 

People on the opposite side cheered and cried and 
called me, and Bobbery, behind, called out once or 
twice, “Ship ahoy! ” in a voice that I knew and 


46 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 

loved better than anything on earth. Once I heard 
him say faintly—he seemed so far away, “In port 
at last! At last! ’ ’ 

The people on the shore had ceased their shouts. 
In an awful silence and an awful darkness, I 
jumped to land, and held out my two hands. 
“Bobbery! Bobbery! ” I cried, “I want to thank 
you.” 

Did Bobbery hear, sir, do you think? Do people 
hear anything, do people understand anything, 
after they have gone away? 

They told me afterward how the plank he was 
launching to help himself to the shore drifted away 
from his hand, and he was out of sight directly; 
how they would have saved him, if they could; and 
how, when they began to shout to him directions, he 
made a sign for silence, and stood up straight upon 
the sill, with the sunset creeping all about him, and 
the waters washing at his feet. They wondered 
why he had made no effort to reach the shore with 
me. They used to wonder for long after why he 
had stood so silent, with his eager eyes and restless 
feet so strangely still. I knew, of course. It was 
because Bobbery wouldn’t let me lose the faintest 
chance. I would have done the same for him, sir, 
any day, for Bobbery and me, we were always fond 
of each other. 

And Bobbery? He just died, sir; and the folks 
thought such a deal of him that they collected a bit 
to set me up in trade. I took half of the money 
just to put up this little cross by the riverside, for 
he always divided the coppers, sir. 

That’s all, sir—just all about Bobbery. Only 
sometimes in the night I seem to hear his voice 
again far away, and it always says the same words, 
sir, 4 ‘ In port at last! ’ ’ 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 47 


A BOY’S ESSAY ON SNAKES 

This here is a essay what—(Ladies and gentle¬ 
men)—this here is a essay what I wrote in school 
about snakes. 

There was two roads in my grandfather’s garden, 
an’ one road was a-comin’ down from the north 
and the other road was a-comin’ up from the south, 
an’ they both met each other. 

An’ there was two snakes in my grandfather’s 
garden, a black snake and a b-l-e-w-blue snake, an ’ 
the blue snake was cornin’ up the road from the 
south, and the black snake was cornin’ down the 
road from the north, an’ they both met each other. 
An’ the blue snake he started to quarrel with the 
black snake, an ’ the black snake he started to quar¬ 
rel-with the blue snake, and they both quarreled 
with each other. An’ the blue snake he started to 
swaller the black snake an’ the black snake he 
started to swaller the blue snake, an’ they both 
swallered an’ swallered each other. 

This here is the essay what I wrote in school on 
Snakes. 


TOM’S THREE CHRISTMASES 

Such a mess as I got into, and all along of that 
telltale, Daisy Gilmore! Catch me giving anything 
away to a girl again! I s’pose it’s good enough for 
me, though. Time and time again I’d heard my 
father say that women folks never could keep any¬ 
thing to themselves.—But I was going to tell you 
my story, you know. 

I hadn’t been going to Sunday School very regu- 



48 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 

larly. It was about the first of December that I 
happened to think of something, and I remarked to 
my mother that I guessed I’d better be going to 
Sunday School again. She said she should think I 
had, or I’d grow up a perfect pagan. 

Well, the next Sunday I went. Miss Nettie Gil¬ 
more had the class. Miss Gilmore’s got the steady 
grit in her! 

Well, I’d thought of attending some more Sun¬ 
day Schools about that time. Our church has Sun¬ 
day School in the morning and preaching in the 
afternoon. The Methodist church has preaching in 
the morning and Sunday School right away. The 
Presbyterian church has preaching in the morning 
and Sunday School in the afternoon. So there 
were three Sunday Schools I could go to in one day. 

I was acquainted with a Methodist boy, and I 
told him I guessed I’d drop into his class that Sun¬ 
day, and he said all right, he’d take me. His 
teacher’s a young man I’d seen at our church with 
Miss Nettie Gilmore lots of times in the evening. 
Well, he whipped out a note-book and wrote down 
my name and age and residence, my father’s and 
mother’s names and all the particulars. 

In the afternoon I concluded I’d step around to 
the Presbyterian church. The teacher of the class 
they showed me into is Miss Nettie Gilmore’s aunt, 
one of those real beautiful old ladies, with white 
hair all put up in puffs and lots of black lace and 
velvet and bangles and things. 

Well, I managed to get all around next Sunday, 
and the next, too, and that was the Sunday before 
Christmas, you know. 

They were all pretty full of talk about their 
Christmas trees. They said I must be sure to be on 
hand and I told them they might count on me. 

It was a good sized job for one evening. But the 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 49 

Methodists were going to open their exercises with 
a supper, and that decided me. 

Just the moment I stepped my foot inside the 
vestry door, my Methodist teacher spied me and 
came right down and said: ‘ ‘ Glad to see you, Tom; 
afraid you were going to fail us after all. ’ ’ 

And then he put his hand on my shoulder and 
marched me straight to the front and, before I knew 
it, he’d plumped me right down beside the minister, 
but he shook hands and said he was happy to see 
me there and asked me how my folks did. 

Pretty soon they began to pass around the plates. 
And ’twas, “Do have some of this!” and “Do have 
some of that!” till I declare I was downright sick 
of the sight and smell of victuals. 

Then everybody went up-stairs where the tree 
was, and old Santa himself waiting to shake it. 
Well, the old fellow kept sticking cornucopias of 
candy into my pockets and hitching them onto my 
buttons and piling them up in my hat, and folks 
looking and grinning, till I began to feel cheap. 
And presents! Well, what do you say now to a 
Chinese puzzle, and a savings bank, and a pair of 
suspenders with vines and flowers all worked on 
them, and a prime fishing tackle! 

I suppose I did look kind of awkward, lugging off 
so many traps, but I don’t think their old Saint 
Nick need to have hollered out, “Shan’t I call a 
carriage, sonny?” and “Better bring your basket 
next time!” and set them all ha-ha-ing like split. 

At the Presbyterian church, they commenced 
with a pretty long intellectual repast, so they’d 
just got down to their tree when I got around there. 
My old lady teacher came and patted me on the 
head, and said, ‘ * Why, Thomas, dear boy, I feared 
you were ill and could not come!” 

Well, there were more candy bags that time, and 


50 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 

a handkerchief, and a Testament, and a brush- 
broom case and a Japanese collar box, and then it 
struck cards—plain ones and fringed ones and tied- 
up-with-cord ones, and I guess every kind of a one 
that was ever thought of. Each card by itself, you 
know, and put up in a box, so’s to make the more 
show of being something. “Thomas Rogers!” 
“Thomas Rogers!” the distributor kept calling out, 
till everybody was staring and nudging somebody 
and inquiring who I was anyway, and how I hap¬ 
pened to be getting so much. 

I’d left our church till last, because I knew there 
wasn’t any risk on that. “Why, Tommie,” Miss 
Nettie said, “what makes you so late? The tree is 
all plucked of its fruit. I’ve saved your presents 
for you, and there are lots of them, too. Kriss 
Kringle never forgets the good boys. Step this 
way a moment, please. I want to introduce you to 
one of my friends.” And, now, who do you sup¬ 
pose she led me up to? My Methodist teacher, as 
sure as I’m telling it! And then Miss Nettie went 
to talking to him about me; telling him how atten¬ 
tive I’d been in the class and what a nice, manly 
fellow I was. Oh, ’twas awful! I’d rather have 
taken a thrashing than heard it! 

On my way home that night, there was a gentle¬ 
man and lady just ahead of me. I heard the gen¬ 
tleman say, “The young rascal! I’ve spent more 
money on him than his tricky little pate is worth! ’ ’ 

“But I think we’ve shamed him, Richard, you 
and Auntie and I,” the lady replied. I knew that 
voice. It was Miss Nettie’s. I heard considerable 
more, that I don’t feel like repeating now. But I ’ll 
give you the facts in the case. I let Daisy, Miss 
Nettie’s younger sister, into my secret, you know. 
She promised she’d never tell as true as she lived 
and breathed, and then turned round and peeped 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 5 I 

the whole thing out to Miss Nettie. Then Miss 
Nettie went and told the Methodist young man and 
the Presbyterian old lady, and they all put their 
heads together to make it hot for me, and they did! 

Well, when I happen to join any more Sunday 
Schools with an eye to their Christmas trees, you let 
me know, won’t you? 


THE CHICKADEE—DEE 

Little darling of the snow, 

Careless how the winds may blow, 

Happy as a bird can be, 

Singing, oh, so cheerily, 

Chickadee—dee! Chickadee—dee! 

{Imitate.) 

When the skies are cold and gray, 

Then he trills his happiest lay; 

Through the clouds he seems to see 
Hidden things to you and me. 

Chickadee—dee! Chickadee—dee! 

Very likely little birds 

Have their thoughts too deep for words; 

But we know and all agree 

That the world would dreary be 

Without birds, dear chickadee. 

—Elizabeth A. Paris, in “The 
Youth 9 s Companion 




52 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


THE CORRECTION-BOX 

Yesterday morning a missionary man came to our 
Sunday school, and told us all about the little 
heathen. They don’t have to be dressed up, nor 
learn the catechism, nor sew patchwork, nor behave, 
nor do anything disagreeable. And they don’t 
know the value of money. They’d a great deal 
rather have a bright button than a gold dollar. 

In the afternoon, when we are ready for church, 
mother gave us each a five-cent piece. “That’s to 
put in the correction-box,” says she. “The mis¬ 
sionary is going to preach, and your father and I 
want you to give him something for the heathen. ’ ’ 
On the way to church, Johnny said, “It isn’t the 
least use to send five centses to the heathen. They’d 
rather have a bright button than a gold dollar, and 
of course they wouldn’t care about five cents. And 
there’s no candy in heathenland, so what do they 
want of money anyhow?” 

Then I said, “ If I only had my button-string, we 
could each give a button, and spend the five centses 
for candy, and so we’d be pleased all round.” 
Johnny said, “That’s a good idea; there’s a button 
loose on my jacket this minute; and if I can twist 
off another before the correction-box comes ’round, 
I ’ll give it to you, Kitty. ’ ’ 

I thought it was a lovely plan, for Johnny’s but¬ 
tons are just beauties. I heard mother tell sister 
Em that they cost two dollars a dozen. They look 
like gold. But when we got to church they made 
me go into the pew first, and father put Johnny 
beside him next the door, so’s we couldn’t talk. 

The missionary talked a long time, and then they 
sang “Greenland’s Icy Mountains,” and then they 
went ’round with the correction-boxes. Father 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 53 

takes one of them, and they’re on long sticks like a 
corn-popper, and deep, so’t other folks can’t see 
what you put in. I had to drop in my five cents, 
and then mother and Em put in their money, and 
last of all, Johnny put in his button. He held his 
hand close to the box when he did it, and then he 
looked at me behind the others, and nodded, so I’d 
know he had his five cents all safe. 

This morning we bought five lovely squares of 
taffy. We didn’t have time to eat it before school, 
and when we were going home, Johnny said, “Let 
us wait till after dinner, and then give everybody 
a piece; and then I ’ll tell father what the mission¬ 
ary said, and maybe after this he’ll give buttons, 
and it’ll save him a great deal of money.” 

So we waited, and after dinner, just as we took 
out the candy to divide it, father pulled something 
bright out of his pocket, and rolled it across the 
table to mother. She thought it was money, and 
said, “Just what I wanted!” But it wasn’t money; 
it was a brass button. 

“How did you come by this? ” said she. 

‘ ‘ I found it in the correction-box yesterday after¬ 
noon,” said father. “Some little rascal put it in, 
I suppose, and spent his money for candy, and who¬ 
ever he is, he ought to have a wholesome lesson. If 
he was my son-” 

And then mother said, “Why, it’s just like 
Johnny’s buttons!” And sister Em said, “Well, 
there’s one gone off his Sunday jacket. I noticed 
it this morning and meant to speak about it. ’ ’ 

Everybody looked at us. Father asked what we 
had in that paper, and said, “John, is this your 
button?” And we said yes. They called us un¬ 
happy children and sent us up-stairs. 

We’ve both had a wholesome lesson. I had one, 
’cause they said I put it into Johnny’s head. For 



54 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


two weeks, father is going to put our pennies away 
for the heathen, to make us remember. 

Johnny says he wishes he was a heathen. 

—Kitty White. 


DOLLY’S FIRST LESSON 

Sit here, you stupid dolly, 

I’m ’shamed to have to ’fess 

You don’t know any letter 
’Cept just your crooked S. 

Now listen, and I’ll tell you— 
This round hole’s name is 0, 

And when you put a tail in 
It makes it Q, you know. 

And if it has a front door 
To walk in at, it’s C, 

Then make a seat right here 
To sit on, and it’s G. 

And this tall letter, dolly, 

Is I, and stands for me; 

And when it puts a hat on, 

It makes a cup of T. 

And curly I is J, dear, 

And half of B is P, 

And E without his slippers on 
Is only F, you see! 

You turn A upside downwards, 
And people call it Y; 

And if it’s twins, like this one, 
W Twill be. 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 55 


Now, dolly, when you learn ’em, 

You’ll know a great big heap— 

’Most much’s I—O dolly! 

I b’lieve you’ve gone to sleep! 

—“The Youth's Companion.” 


THE DUEL 

The gingham dog and the calico cat 
Side by side on the table sat; 

’Twas half-past twelve, and what do you think— 
Neither of them had slept a wink! 

And the old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate 
Seemed to know, as sure as fate, 

There was going to be an awful spat. 

(I wasn’t there—I simply state 

What was told to me by the Chinese plate.) 

The gingham dog went, “Bow-wow-wow!” 

And the calico cat replied, “Me-ow!” 

And the air was streaked for an hour or so 
With fragments of gingham and calico, 

While the old Dutch clock in the chimney place 
Up with its hands before its face, 

For it always dreaded a family row! 

(Now mind, I’m simply telling you 
What the old Dutch clock declares is true.) 

The Chinese plate looked very blue, 

And wailed, “Oh, dear, what shall we do? ” 

But the gingham dog and the calico cat 
Wallowed this way and tumbled that 
And utilized every tooth and claw 
In the awfullest way you ever saw; 



56 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 

And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew! 
(Don’t think that I exaggerate— 

I got my news from the Chinese plate.) 

Next morning, where the two had sat 
They found no trace of the dog or cat; 

And some folks think unto this day 
That burglars stole that pair away; 

But the truth about that cat and pup 
Is that they ate each other up— 

Now what do you really think of that? 

(The old Dutch clock, it told me so, 

And that is how I came to know.) 

—Eugene Field . 


AN EASTER LEGEND 

There’s a story to children of Europe told, 
That happened far back in the days of old, 
When with war’s grim beacon the land was red. 
It was then that a beautiful Duchess fled 
From her home to the mountain fastness wild, 
There, with her little fair-haired child, 

To wait till the kingdom was lost or won, 

And the terrible fighting all was done. 

The kindly peasants welcomed her there, 

And cheerfully gave her of their rude fare. 

It was frugal enough; neither fish nor meat, 
Nothing but herbs from the field to eat, 

And strangely enough, in the village, I ween, 
A hen or an egg had never been seen. 

But peace o ’er the fair land reigned once more, 
And war and fighting at last were o’er, 

Yet, ere to her home the Duchess went, 

To her far-off home, a servant was sent, 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 5 7 


To bring to the village, eggs so gay, 

To feast the children on Easter day. 

Pretty nests were made in the juniper then, 

And the tiny women and wee little men 
Went eagerly hunting, till—Oh, what a prize! 
Hardly could each one believe his eyes— 

At sight of the nests ’neath the evergreen shade, 
With leaves and lichens and moss inlaid, 

Yet there in each nest, Oh, wonderful treasure!— 
Never before had the children such pleasure— 

A goodly store of eggs were seen, 

In scarlet and purple, gold and green. 

As each child gave a cry at the sight so gay, 

Lo! a little brown hare went scampering away, 
And the children said, as they saw it there, 

* ‘ Those eggs were laid by the little brown hare. ’ ’ 
Though hundreds of years to the past have sped, 
And the Duchess and children are long since 
dead, 

Whenever an Easter day we see, 

Still the little children across the sea 

Go eagerly hunting here and there 

For the wonderful eggs of the little brown hare. 


FLO’S NEW SUIT 

My mamma took me to a lake, 
And round it there was land, 
And so we took our stockings off, 
Made houses out of sand. 

My mamma bought me a new suit 
All knit of wool that’s red, 

And I could wear it out to play, 
That’s what my mamma said. 



58 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


But when I put that new suit on, 

Then mamma tried to make 
Me walk way out upon the sand 
And sit down in the lake. 

I cried and ran into the house; 

You would have too, I bet, 

If when you had your new suit on, 
They’d made you get it wet. 

—Helen Chaffee Workman. 


THE FLOWERS THAT LAUGHED 

“I went to the garden this morning,” 

Our darling of darlings said, 

With a gurgle of rippling music, 

And a twitch of her flossy head. 


“I went to the garden early 
(The thing that I say is true) ; 

The flowers were washing their faces 
From buttercups filled with dew! 

“The violets hardly had wakened, 

The bluebells were ringing a tune; 
The roses were laughing together, 

And telling each other, ‘It’s June!’ 

“The white of the lilies seemed whiter 
Than ever I saw it before; 

But the tulips were all in a fidget, 
Because there were bees at their core. 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS S9 

‘The hollyhocks surely were angry, 

So stiffly they stood and so tall, 

For how could the breadth of such faces 
Be washed in a basin so small? 

4 When I came to the bed where the pansies 
Were turning to look at the light, 

I stood and I watched them with wonder; 

I never had seen such a sight. 

4 They laughed and they laughed,—their faces 
All dimpled and merry and wet,— 

Till I thought they would kill themselves 
laughing; 

And there they are laughing yet.” 

—Margaret J. Preston, in “The 
Youth's Companion .” 


FRECKLE-FACED FAN 

They say I’m as plain as a girl can be, 

And call me 4 4 Freckle-Faced Fan ’ ’; 

And how do I know when to go to school, 
For any clock that ran 
My face would stop. I go right on. 

In class I’m in the van; 

I’m getting hundred marks each day, 

And I’ll show ’em that I can! 

And, “Wouldn’t the movies be the place 
For our little Freckle-Faced Fan?” 

And, 4 4 Why don’t you try your charm some 
day 

Upon the camera man? ” 



60 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


Now, if Weslie Barry’s made a name 
With his freckles and his tan, 
Maybe some day I’ll go out west, 
And show ’em that I can! 


And, “You can never catch a beau, 

You little Freckle-Faced Fan! 

He’d just see freckles, and never your face 
Would show to any man.” 

Now, maybe I’ll buy some cosmetic stuff 
To hide the freckles and tan, 

And I ’ll be a charming beauty yet, 

And show ’em that I can! 

—Helen Chaffee Workman. 


A SENSIBLE CHRISTMAS 

One morning when I came down to breakfast, 
mamma said the family had decided to give only 
sensible Christmas presents this year. I began to 
think of something they could give me, and every¬ 
thing I wanted wasn’t sensible, and everything 
that was sensible I didn’t want. But I knew 
that when mamma said the family had decided, 
that she had decided and the family might as well 
be resigned. 

It was awful to go along the street and see the 
skates and sleds and balls and things like that, and 
know that what I’d get would be mittens and tooth 
paste. Mamma says to me one day, “William, all of 
us are going to make out a list of sensible things 
we’d like to have.” 



. SELECTIONS FOE SMALL SPEAKERS 61 

Aunt Jane had hers up already, and on it was 
handkerchiefs, gloves, stationery, perfume, mani¬ 
cure set and good books. When Sis got home from 
school she hung up hers. On it was powder, 
emerald ring, pins, brown spats, pink chiffon scarf, 
long white kid gloves, high-heeled silver dancing 
pumps and a ukilaly. Uncle Jimmy tacked his to 
the wall after dinner. It said ties, socks, fountain 
pen, cigars, hair tonic and toilet water. I tried to 
make mine, but I couldn’t think of a thing to write. 
In the morning mamma ’s was up, which had dish 
towels, cups and saucers, pocketbook, table-cloth 
and napkins. Dad wanted collars, pipe, shaving 
stick, clothes brush, sweater, smoking jacket and 
alarm clock. So Grandma and I were the only 
ones that didn’t know what we wanted. 

It kept going on till two weeks before Christmas, 
and then I made up my mind I had to do some¬ 
thing, so I wrote pad, eraser, pocket dictionary, 
shoe-strings and tooth-brush on a paper and stuck 
it up on the wall. Grandma put hers up next day. 
There was just one thing on it—indelible lead-pen¬ 
cil. 

One morning I walked to school with little 
Grade Taylor, that lives across the street. She 
says, ‘ ‘ William, what makes you so grumpy lately ? ’ ’ 
She’s an awful nice girl, and her cheeks was all 
red from the wind, with big dimples, and her eyes 
were big and blue with the ends of her curls blow¬ 
ing into them. So I told her we was going to 
have a sensible Christmas, with nothing we wanted, 
and just things we ought to have, and no skates or 
sleds or nothing, and she said she knew all about it. 
They was going to have a sensible Christmas, too, 
and dolls weren’t sensible. She looked like she was 
going to cry and I was afraid if she did her face 
would freeze, so I gave her a red jaw-breaker, and 


62 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 

I took a black one, and by the time we finished 
them we were at school. 

Gracie is only in the third grade, so I didn’t see 
her again till next morning, owing to having to 
stay after school for telling Miss Smead that 
Wiener was the capital of Kentucky. Next morn¬ 
ing I waited for her and I says, “Gracie, if our 
families won’t only give us sensible presents, why 
shouldn’t we give each other something we want ? ’ ’ 
She laughed and says, “William, that would just 
be elegant. What do you want?” I says I didn’t 
know exactly, just so it wasn’t sensible. Then we 
got to school. 

Well, I couldn’t think what to get Gracie or 
Grandma, but I had all the rest of my things a 
week before Christmas. I had decided to get a 
book for Aunt Jane. Her list said any good book, 
so I went into a store and says to the clerk I 
wanted to see Tom Sawyer. He says, “He ain’t 
working here no more.” Then a pretty lady came 
and says what did I want, and I says some good 
book. She says did I want it for myself. I says 
no it was for Aunt Jane. She says how old was 
Aunt Jane. I says, “Oh, ’bout forty years and 
she’s a school teacher.” She says, “How would 
she like Love Letters of Bonapart?” I didn’t 
know, but I was afraid she would get mad if I 
didn’t take it, so I says all right, and she gave me 
the book, and I paid for it, which was a dollar and 
a half. I got Mamma a cute cup and saucer with 
red and blue flowers on it, and I bought Dad a 
shaving stick, and Sis some face powder. I bought 
a pair of purple socks for Uncle Jimmy, but I 
didn’t know what to get for Grandma. I knew 
she felt the same way I did about sensible Christ¬ 
mases. I thought about it till the day before Christ¬ 
mas, and then I finally decided to get her a plant. 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 63 

I went into a flower store and the man showed me 
a pink rose bush, and I got it and told him where 
to send it, and he says it was a lovely gift for a 
pretty little girl, but I says I couldn’t help it if 
it was, because this was for my grandmother and I 
knew what I was going to give Gracie. I did know 
and I had knew for a long time, but I felt kind of 
silly asking for a doll, so I kept putting off getting 
it. But I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer, 
so I went into a store and wandered round till I 
saw some dolls. I picked out one I liked with a 
dress all ruffles and a ribbon on its hair, and the 
girl put it in a box and gave it to me, and she says 
how my little sister would enjoy playing with that 
doll. 

The next morning they had to call me, and I 
wasn’t very crazy to get down-stairs. We always 
have our presents at our places at the table, cov¬ 
ered up with papers. Grandma found her rose 
bush first, and she got up and kissed me. There 
was something lying on the floor by my place and 
I took the paper off. It was a red sled trimmed 
with yellow, with a card that said, “-Merry Christ¬ 
mas to Willie from Grandma. ’ ’ Then I hugged her, 
and she looked at Mamma and said she wasn’t go¬ 
ing to have Willie’s Christmas completely spoiled. 
Mamma looked kind of funny at that and Uncle 
Jimmy got red. The next thing I found was a pair 
of skates from Uncle Jimmy. He glanced at 
Mamma and says, “You needn’t scold me. Soap 
is a pretty cold Christmas for a kid. ’ ’ 

Then I opened a book from Aunt Jane. I 
thought probably it was a dictionary, but it was 
“Treasure Island.” I yelled right out loud, and 
Aunt Jane says without looking up that it was 
considered a very good book for boys. Mamma 
looked queerer than ever when I opened a box 


64 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 

from Sis with a dandy flashlight in it. “A flash¬ 
light is so useful, Mamma,” she says. Dad was 
getting nervous, and when I unwrapped his pres¬ 
ent, a peach of a rifle, he coughed and said, “Our 
boys must learn to defend their country, eh, 
Louise ? ’ ’ 

Mamma didn’t say a word till everybody had 
opened their presents. Then she got up and opened 
the dining-room door, and a little bulldog puppy 
came trotting in with a big red bow on his neck. 
Then Mamma straightened up and says she s ’posed 
they all thought that—that—well, they could think 
what they pleased, but she was glad she had got me 
the dog. 

After breakfast I took the doll and went over to 
Grade’s. Her father came to the door and he says, 
well, well, here was William with a present for 
him! I says I wanted to see Gracie, so he took me 
into the parlor. Gracie was standing by the front 
window and I handed her the box and she opened 
it. She gave the doll one look, and then she stood 
upon her tiptoes and put her arms around my neck 
and kissed me. I looked out of the window and 
there was Sally Jane on her way to Janet Clem¬ 
onses, watching us. Then Gracie gave me my pres¬ 
ent, and after I told her all about my presents and 
she showed me hers, I went home. I met Sally 
Jane on her way back, and I says, “Merry Christ¬ 
mas,” but she just turned her head and walked on. 

When I got home, I opened my present and it 
was a little pink pincushion with pins stuck in it 
like the shape of a heart. 

That afternoon I met Jimmy Perkins. He says, 
yaaa, Sally Jane wasn’t my girl any more. I says 
yaaa hisself, I guessed I didn’t care; I guessed I 
had another girl. 

The next morning Uncle Jimmy said I had a 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 65 

dirty spot on my face. I knew it was dirty because 
I hadn’t washed it, because it was the place where 
G-racie kissed me. But don’t you tell Uncle Jimmy. 

—Carlotta Crofts, in “The Retina” 


HARD TO WAIT 

My granddad is a Mason, 

My grandma is a Star, 

My daddy is a Red Man, 

My mother, D. A. R. 

My uncle is a Templar, 

So Aunt must be a Knight, 

Their son, he is an Elkman, 

Their girl, a Woman’s Right. 

They all belong to something. 

I think it a great note 
I’ve got to grow to be a man, 

Before I ride the goat. 

—May Noble. 


THE FROG TEA PARTY 

My Lady Green-Sleeves took up her pen, 
And, thrumming her fingers thoughtfully, 
Counted them, one by one, to ten. 

“Ten is enough, I’m sure,” said she. 

She was planning, you see, 

To have a party of friends to tea. 




66 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


It took her a whole forenoon to write, 

For her pen was poor and pale her ink; 

Nor was she sure of her spelling quite; 

And, besides, the sunlight made her blink; 

And she had to think 
What she would have to eat and drink. 

But by noon, a page in livery— 

(He was scarcely more than a polliwog)— 

She had sent with the cards:—“Your company 
I beg for to-morrow, Madame Frog, 

At the Great Green Log, ’ ’ 

And then, in a general way, “The Bog.” 


Such a flutter as stirred that quiet pool! 
(My lady was deemed the very elite—) 
And would it be hot ? or would it be cold ? 
While every shopman along the street 
Tried hard to cheat 

In the price of his webs for ladies’ feet. 


Next day, as it neared the hour of five, 

From the lily-pads on every side, 

The gala guests began to arrive, 

With their most Parisian skip and stride. 

(It was their pride 
To hop to their parties—not to ride.) 

My Lady Green-Sleeves stood in the hall, 

And greeted them in her stately way; 

And, the company being select and small, 

They fell to chatting without delay; 

And with laughter gay 
Said the silliest things they could possibly say. 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 67 


Had ever a log such a soft green moss ?— 

Or, was ever shine so cool to the feet ?— 

My Lady Blue-Stocking was always cross, 

But my Lady Green-Sleeves—oh, so sweet!— 

It would be a treat 

To know what they were to have to eat. 

My Lady Blue-Stocking was strong of mind— 
The only one there who had a ‘ 1 sphere ’ ’; 

She never ‘ ‘ guessed ’ ’ anything, but ‘ * opined ’ ’; 
And, croaking so loud that all must hear, 

She hoped that near 

Was the time when woman would be man’s 
peer. 

But her giddier friends thought more of style, 
And a sphere to them was an unknown thing. 
Could they buy it or wear it?—with shallow 
smile— 

Then they greedily fell to wondering, 

With flout and fling, 

If the supper bell would never ring. 

Just then, tiptoeing along the bank, 

A small boy crept with a rod and line. 

His little toes in the mosses sank; 

His eyes were full of a wicked shine— 

The certain sign, 

In a boy, of some deep-laid design. 

And on the end of his line there swung 
A feathery hackle of gray and red, 

It looked like a June fly, as it hung. 

* ‘ They ’ll bite it, sure! ’ ’ the small boy said. 

And with crafty tread 
He paused, and lowered the fatal thread. 


68 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


My Lady Blue-Stocking had just avowed 
Her faith in the Darwin creed was right; 

The others were purring low or loud; 

And the small boy murmured, with delight,— 
Well out of sight— 

“In a minute more, I ’ll have a bite! ’’ 

A sudden jerk of the pole in air 
Cut short the feminine dialogue. 

The small boy shouted, “ Hello, there,”— 

To a barefoot neighbor, all agog— 

‘ 1 1’ve caught a frog, 

Eight off the end of the big green log! ’ ’ 

’Twas Lady Blue-Stocking, dangling high, 
And swaying about so helplessly; 

And my Lady Green-Sleeves heaved a sigh: 

* 4 That’s surely the Darwin theory,” 

Reflected she, 

“So very much higher she’s gone than we.” 

They wrung their little kid hands and cried; 
They neither waited to see nor know; 

But, with a most un-Parisian stride, 

They leaped, and plunged in the pool below,— 
Politely, though, 

My Lady Green-Sleeves was the last to go. 


So, for all the flutter, and all the plans 
Of the Frog-town aristocracy— 

Their yellow lace, their old-gold fans— 

At my Lady Green-Sleeves’ company 
They had no tea, 

But water alone, and—a tragedy! 

—Clara Doty Bates . 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 69 


HER NAME 

“I’m losted! Could you find me, please!” 
Poor little frightened baby! 

The wind had tossed her golden fleece, 

The stones had scratched her dimpled knees. 
I stooped and lifted her with ease, 

And softly whispered, “Maybe.” 


“Tell me your name, my little maid, 

I can’t find you without it.” 

“My name is Shiny-eyes,” she said. 

“Yes, but your last!” She shook her head: 
“Up to my house ’ey never said 
A single fing about it.” 

“But, dear,” I said, “what is your name!” 
“Why, didn’t you hear me told you! 

Dust Shiny-eyes. ’ ’ A bright thought came: 
“Yes, when you’re good; but when they blame 
You, little one—is’t just the same 
When mamma has to scold you! ’ ’ 


i ‘ My mamma never scolds, ’ ’ she moans, 

A little blush ensuing, 

‘ * ’Cept when I’ve been a-frowing stones, 

And then she says ” (the culprit owns), 
‘“Mehitabel Sapphira Jones, 

What has you been a-doing! ’ ” 

—Anna F. Burnham. 



70 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


HEZEKIAH BETTLE 

Hezekiah Bettle was a bachelor from Maine, 

But one morning he departed by a very early 
train. 

“For fuel is so costly,’’ said the frugal Hezekiah, 
“I am forced to find a dwelling where I need not 
pay for fiah. ’ ’ 

So he made a bee-line southward till to Mexico he 
came, 

And he found there a volcano with a most ec¬ 
centric name, 

And he built him there a cottage, did this Heze¬ 
kiah Bettle— 

He built it near the summit of Mount Po-po- 
cat-a-petl. 

Whenever he desired to cook a mutton chop, 

He’d hang it by a lengthy string, right over from 
the top, 

From the top of the volcano he would hang it by 
a string, 

And there until ’twas nicely cooked, he’d let his 
dinner swing. 

To get his boiling water, he would lower down a 
kettle— 

Right into the crater of Mount Po-po-cat-a-petl! 

From the ashes of the mountain, he would light 
his meerschaum pipe, 

And he felt as truly happy as a jolly little snipe. 

But one evening, as it happened, there came a 
grisly bear, 

And he was much astonished to see Hezekiah 
there, 


SELECTIONS FOE SMALL SEE A FEES 71 


So he tapped him on the shoulder—this poor 
Hezekiah Bettle— 

Who straightway did fall over into Po-po-cat-a- 
petl! 

—Malcolm Douglas. 


HOME PROBLEMS 

I’ll be glad when days are longer an’ the nights 
are shorter! How 

Can a kid git up his kindlin ’, mix up feed an ’ milk 
the cow 

An ’ git time for any playin ’ when the night comes 
on so soon 

That it gits here in the middle of the winter after¬ 
noon ? 

By the time my supper’s over it is almost time for 

bed. 

What’s the use of skates for Christmas? What’s 
the use of my new sled 

If the night comes on so sudden that there ain’t no 
time to play, 

An’ if it is either thawin’ or a-rainin’ Saturday? 

And the problems teacher gives us to take home and 
do 0 ’ nights, 

Settin’ humped up with a pencil! Kids don’t seem 
to have no rights. 

Life is only work an ’ study. It would fill my heart 
with joy 

If some fairy’d touch my teacher an’ make her a 
little boy 

For a week, along in winter, an’ then change her 
back again. 

Bet she wouldn’t think home problems was so good 
for fellers then! 



7 2 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 

Problems makes a feller nervous when the nights 
is white an’ still, 

An’ kids pass the house an’ whistle, an’ the moon 
is on the hill. 

Some kids’ fathers help them study, but my father 
can’t help me, 

For he never had no schoolin’ when he was a kid, 
an’ he 

Wants me to get educated, so that when I’m growed 
up I 

Need not work hard for a livin’ like he has to, an’ 
that’s why 

I try hard to git the problems; but I miss a lot of 
fun, 

For I’m always tired an’ sleepy by the time I’ve 
got ’em done. 

But I don’t let on before him, ’cause he is so glad 
and proud 

To see me a-doin’ problems, an’ to hear me read out 
loud! 


HOW THE CITY BOY WAS WHIPPED 
Country Boy. 

Well, if this don’t beat all! I never knew 
There were so many houses the whole world 
through. 

Whichever way I look a house I see; 

They’re thick as girls is at a parin’ bee. 

Why, this ’ere town would never stop before 
It ate ours up, an’ smacked its lips for more! 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 73 
[Enter a City Boy.] 

City Boy. 

What are you staring at, my tender one? 

What are you looking for, my verdant son ? 

Country Boy. 

I’m starin ’ at whatever takes my eye; 

I ’m hunting for a gentleman. Good-bye. 

City Boy. 

Why, I’m a gentleman, and I will do 
My best to help you, if you want me to. 

I know the city well; you, by your face, 

Are but a stranger here. Is this the case ? 

Country Boy. 

It ain’t for me to rub out what you say; 

I am a stranger, come from Salem way. 

City Boy. 

Is that a fact? We’ll soon put that to rights; 

I ’ll take you round, and show you all the sights. 
Perhaps you’ve heard it said, ‘ ‘ out Salem way, ’ ’ 
The world turns on its axis once each day ? 

Country Boy. 

Well, yes; that’s what last winter’s schoolma’am 
said, 

But hanged if I could get it through my head. 
City Boy. 

You see that church-spire just before your nose? 
Well, that’s the very point round which it goes. 
And if the truth is known—straight up and 
down— 

I own about three-quarters of this town. 

You see those ships out yonder in the bay? 

They all are mine. I build one every day. 


74 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


Country Boy. 

It’s getting late, and if you have not made 
One for to-day, you’d best be at your trade. 

City Boy. 

Oh, I’ve a thousand men my work to do. 

I send my ships to every country, too; 

I send them to the moon. When the wind’s fair 
We Boston people get our cheese from there. 

Country Boy. 

Now, look ye here, my fine friend, if ye please, 
Don’t tell me that the moon is made o ’ cheese! 

City Boy. 

You doubt my word, you green, young country 
stick! 

Well, then, I’ll trounce you till I make you sick! 
Country Boy. 

You’ve told so many things I falsehood guessed; 

I b ’lieve I doubt that more than all the rest. 

City Boy. 

Pray, let me up! I only was in fun! 

Country Boy. 

An’ I’m in earnest. Now, my pretty one, 

You take that church-spire story back? 

City Boy. 

Oh, yes! 

Country Boy. 

You’ll own you don’t own Boston now, I guess? 
City Boy. 

Oh, yes! that was a piece of nonsense, too. 

I ’ll give my city claims all up to you. 

Country Boy. 

You own the moon ain’t cheese? 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 7 $ 


City Boy. 

Oh, yes! oh, dear! 

Country Boy. 

You’ll own you are a liar, as you lie here? 

City Boy. 

Yes, yes! I own it all! Just let me go, 

An ’ after this my tongue shall move more slow. 

Country Boy. 

Then take your feet, an’ go upon your way, 

An’ be more truthful on another day. 

An’ when a country boy comes into town 
Don’t try, first thing, to make him out a clown. 
Use him as you’d be used; and, if you please, 
Don’t tell him the moon is made of cheese. 


HOW THE LILY OF THE VALLEY BECAME 
FRAGRANT 

By a brook there lived, many years ago, a lily 
of the valley. It was beautiful, but it shed no 
fragrance. Now the reason for this was very 
strange. 

In the valley where this lily lived the dust often 
blew, so the lily wrapped its mantle of green leaves 
closely about it, and said in its little heart, ‘ ‘ Since 
I have had such a pure white robe given me, I 
must not let it get soiled. ’ ’ It forgot that the good 
All Father had given it that lovely robe for the 
pleasure of others who should behold it. 

The good Father, too, had put into that lily’s 
heart a sweet fragrance, but in wrapping itself so 
closely in its green leaves, it kept the fragrance 



76 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 

wrapped up also. The lily did not know this, how¬ 
ever. 

One day an old white-haired man passed by, and 
stopped to smell the foolish lily. He was a good 
old man. He had passed his life in doing good to 
others. He was sad when he found no fragrance 
in the flower. 

“Poor little flower!” he said. “Like many of 
us, you have no fragrance, because you live only 
for yourself. If you would open wide your green 
leaves, and show us your beauty, and give us the 
pleasure of it, as the good Father meant you 
should, you would soon find out how much more 
blessed it is to give than to receive.’’ 

The old man passed on, leaving the poor little 
flower sad indeed. It had thought it was right in 
keeping its white beauty to itself, clean and pure, 
but now it saw it was all wrong; and with a quick 
impulse, it flung wide its broad leaves, and out 
sprang the sweet, sweet fragrance we know so well. 

Then, indeed, was the lily glad, when it felt the 
whole air about it so sweet, and, strange as it may 
seem, however fiercely the dust might blow, it never, 
never soiled the lily’s clean, white robe. 

— L. F. H. 


THE IRREPRESSIBLE BOY 

He worried the cat, 

He played rat-tat-tat 

On the window panes fully an hour by the clock; 
He tried roller skates 
Where dishes and plates 
In jeopardy lay, till some fell with a shock. 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 77 


With an Indian yell, 

On the doll’s house he fell, 

And added that poor dolly’s scalp to his belt; 
Then knocked off its toes, 

And its fair Grecian nose, 

Which same was of wax, he proceeded to melt. 

Two tubs he upset 
Without one regret; 

He stood on his head till his face turned sky blue; 
A curtain he tore, 

And then sighed for more 
Inventively mischievous things he might do. 

He hid Granny’s “specs,” 

But that didn’t vex; 

Her face brightened up with his fun and his noise. 
One sweet kiss repaid 
For all, so she said, 

Resignedly adding that, “Boys will be boys!” 

But, strangest of all, 

At night’s quiet fall, 

How meekly, how placidly this rogue would say: 
“Good-night, mamma, dear! 

Good-night, papa, dear! 

I’ve tried hard to be such a good boy to-day!” 


JAMIE’S FABLE 

“Jamie, what has happened to you? 

Tell me where you have been so long ? 
See your apron so soiled and torn! 

I fear my boy has been doing wrong. ’ ’ 



78 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


‘ ‘ I was only playing out in the yard, 

Building some houses all in a row, 

And a bear walked through the garden gate 
And said ‘ Good-morning, ’ growling just so. 

t ‘ He tore this hole with his paw, I guess; 

And I struck him then with a great big stick. 
I almost broke his back, I s’pect, 

For I tell you, aunty, he went off quick.” 

“Jamie, look at Maggie’s new doll, 

With her rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes. 
What do you think should be done to her, 

If she should speak and tell naughty lies ? ’ 9 

i * If dolly should ever tell naughty lies, 

Her head should be cut right off, I think. 
What do you b’lieve it’s stuffed with? Say, 
My knife would do it, quick as a wink. ’ ’ 

“And what should be done to a little boy 
Who tells his aunt a story so wild ? 

No bear could say * Good-morning, ’ to you— 
Then why do you talk in this way, my child?” 

“Don’t you ’member the other day 
You read me a story about some bears? 

And they talked together like anything, 

And slept in some beds and sat up in chairs ? ’ ’ 


“But, Jamie, that was a fable I read,— 

I told you then that it wasn’t true.” 

“Well, aunty, that’s what’s the matter with this! 
My bear is a fable story, too.” 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 79 


THE LEARNED GRANDFATHER 

4 ‘ See, Grandpa, see my flower , 9 7 she cried, 
* * I found it in the grasses! ’’ 

And with a kindly look, the sage 
Surveyed it through his glasses. 

“Ah, yes,” he said, “Involucrate, 

And all the florets ligulate, 

Corolla gamopetalous, 

Composite, exogenous, 

A pretty specimen it is— 

Taraxieum dens leonis . 7 7 

She took the blossom back again, 

His face her wistful eye on, 

‘ ‘ I thought, ’ ’ she said, with quivering lip, 
“I thought it was a dandelion.” 


THE LEGEND OF THE FORGET-ME-NOT 

When God the Lord had made the whole wide 
world, and saw that it was good, He sent all the 
animals to Adam, that He might give each a name; 
but all the flowers He placed before Himself, and 
went from one to another telling each a name, so 
that they all knew what they were to be called. 
But one little flower looked up so happily with its 
blue eyes at the blessed God, opening its golden 
heart to Him, that it quite forgot all about itself, 
and so did not know its name. 

“Ah! dear Lord, do not be angry with me; I 
could not help gazing at Thee, till I forgot every¬ 
thing, even the name Thou gavest me. Wilt Thou 
tell it to me again and I will not again forget.” 



80 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


Then God looked kindly at the little flower at His 
feet. “I am not angry with you. That you forget 
yourself is no sin, only Forget-ME-Not.” 


A LESSON IN SPELLING 

(Time, after tea: Jim, aged six; Margaret, aged 
four.) 

Jim. “Now, Margaret, I’m going to teach you 
how to spell. K-I-C-K, Margaret, what does that 
spell ?’’ 

{Vigorously suiting the action to the word.) 

Margaret {from her perch on the rocking-horse). 
“Foot, Jim?” 

Jim. “No, ’tain’t foot. K-I-C-K! Look, Mar¬ 
garet!” {Still holding his leg forward.) 

Margaret {doubtfully). “Is it shoe, Jim?” 

Jim {scornfully). “No! You don’t know 
nothin’. Try another. A-I-R. It’s this—see! ” 

{Buffeting space at an exhausting rate.) 

Margaret {more doubtfully). “Is it kick, 
Jim?” 

Jim. “No, it ain’t. It spells air, Margaret.” 

Margaret. “Well, anyhow, you were kickin’, 
Jim.” 

Jim. “I wasn’t, I was showin’ you where the 
air was. Here, try this. M-O-U-TH—it’s easy.” 

Margaret {discouraged). “I don’t believe I 
can guess it, Jim. ’ ’ 

Jim {condescendingly). “Oh, yes, you can. It 
ain’t half so hard as some words. What do you do 
with a piece of meat ? ’ ’ 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 81 

Margaret. ‘ ‘ Does that spell cut, or knifed’’ 

Jim. “Course it don’t. After you cut it what 
do you do with it? M-O-U-TH!” 

Margaret ( with conviction). “I take it on my 
fork. ’ ’ 

Jim. “Oh, I know, but after you’ve got it on 
your fork. M-O-U-TH.” 

Margaret. “Salt? Then, I put salt on it.” 

Jim (in disgust). “No, now listen! What do you 
do with the meat after you’ve put salt on it?” 

Margaret (timidly). “I — I put pepper on it. 
Is it pepper, Jim?” 

Jim (fiercely). “No. After you put the pepper 
on it. M-O-U-TH.” 

Margaret (sobbing) . ‘‘ I—maybe, I put mustard 
on it. It’s mustard, isn’t it, Jim? ” 

Jim (in disdainful rage). “M-O-U-TH don’t 
spell mustard. It spells mouth, Margaret. ’ ’ 

Margaret (indignantly dashing away her tears). 
“I don’t, I don’t ever put meat that has pepper 
and mustard on it in my mouth, Jim! So that’s all 
you know.” 

Jim (wearily). “You’ll never be a scholard, 
Margaret—you’ll never be a scholard!” 


A LITTLE FELLER 

Say, Sunday’s lonesome fur a little feller, 

With pop and ma ’am a-readin ’ all the while, 

An ’ never sayin ’ anything to cheer ye, 

An’ lookin’ ’s if they didn’t know how to smile; 
With hook an’ line a-hangin’ in the woodshed, 
An’ lots o’ worms down by the outside cellar, 
An ’ Brown’s Creek just over by the mill-dam, 
Say, Sunday’s lonesome fur a little feller. 



8 2 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


Why, Sunday’s lonesome fur a little feller, 

Right on from sun up when the day commences; 
Fur little fellers don’t have much to think of, 
’Cept chasin ’ gophers long the cornfield fences, 
Or diggin ’ after moles down in the wood-lot, 

Or climbin ’ after apples what’s got meller, 

Or fishin’ down in Brown’s Creek an’ mill-pond, 
Say, Sunday’s lonesome fur a little feller. 

But Sunday’s never lonesome fur a little feller 
When he’s stayin’ down to Uncle Ora’s; 

He took his book onct right out in the orchard, 
An’ told us little chaps just lots o’ stories, 

All truly true, that happened onct fur honest, 
An’ one ’bout lions in a sort o’ cellar, 

An’ how some angels came an’ shut their mouths 
up, 

An’ how they never teched that Dan’l feller. 

An’ Sunday’s pleasant down to Aunt Matilda’s: 
She lets us take some books that some one gin her, 
An ’ takes us down to Sunday school ’t the school- 
house ; 

An ’ sometimes she has nice shortcake fur dinner. 
An’ onct she had a puddin’ full o’ raisins, 

An ’ onct a frosted cake all white and yeller; 

I think when I stay down to Aunt Matilda’s, 
That Sunday’s pleasant fur a little feller. 


THE IRONY OF FATE 

You know they’s a girl that lives up our street 
always. She’s in my room at school, and her 
name’s Sally Jane. She used to be my girl and 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 83 

now I guess she is again. Anyways, I always used 
to walk home from school with her and in school 
I used to pull her hair, which is in two braids 
down her back with a bow on each end, and tie up 
the strings in the bag she carried her pencils in, 
and sharpen them for her and give her candy when 
Miss Illing wasn't looking. That was before the 
window got busted. 

You see, I was playing snowball with Jakie 
Smithers one day just before Christmas, and Jakie 
threw the ball right through the window and run, 
and then Dad came out and says: “You’re getting 
worse and worse, and lickings don’t seem to do no 
good, so I ’ll try something else. I’m going to stop 
your allowance till that window is paid for.” So, 
of course, I couldn’t give Sally no Christmas pres¬ 
ent, nor candy nor nothing. 

When teacher was giving out the Christmas pres¬ 
ents from our tree we had at school, Sally kept 
getting redder and redder, and I felt pretty mean, 
because she put a awful pretty one on the tree for 
me. But the worst of it was that Jimmy Pickins 
sent her a big box of candy, and she set and smiled 
at him out of the corners of her eyes. When school 
was out she walked right off with Jimmy, and 
never even looked at me. So what could I do? I 
licked Jimmy good and proper after he got past 
her house, but the next day she called him a hero. 
Gosh! 

Well, things went along like that till day before 
yesterday. Miss Illing called on me in Geography 
and says, “William, what are the manners and 
customs of the Africans?” And I answered, 
“They don’t have no manners nor they don’t wear 
no customs. ’ ’ Then Sally started to giggle and 
that started the rest. I could hear Jimmy on top 
of all of ’em and Sally, so I turned around and 


84 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


made a face at her, and she says right out loud, 
‘‘William must be a African, because he doesn’t 
have any manners either. ’’ 

That night, when I started home, they all yelled, 
“Nigger! nigger!” till I washed Jakie’s face with 
snow, which improved his neck and ears a lot. 
Then I felt better and I didn’t even look back to 
see whether Jimmy and Sally was swingin’ on her 
gate. 

Well, that night, when Sally started out, I walked 
along with her. She didn’t say nothin’ till we al¬ 
most reached her house, then she said, “Nigger!” 
Then I said she needn’t be so mad cuz I didn’t give 
her no Christmas present, and I tried to ’splain how 
Dad stopped my allowance, but she just said, 
“Jimmy earned his cleaning sidewalks.” Then she 
turned right into the house, with her braids nearly 
knocking her heels, her head was up so high. 

Well, I thought about it quite a lot, and the next 
morning I got up real early and looked out the 
window. I was afraid it hadn’t snowed, but it had, 
so I beat it down-stairs and grabbed the snow 
shovel and started. It was cold as blazes, so I went 
in and got Aunt Jane’s sweater and Uncle Jimmy’s 
big mittens, Sissy’s white spats and Dad’s ear 
muffs and a couple of cookies to kind of warm me 
up inside. 

The first place I went to was Parker’s. Mr. 
Parker came to the door. I said, “Please, Mr. 
Parker, may I clean your sidewalk?” He says, 
“Hem! yes, William, hem! I’m sure that will be 
—ahem!—very nice.” So I went to work, and I 
tell you, I made the snow fly. When I finished, I 
knocked again, and he came out and said, ‘ ‘ Ahem! 
it looks very nice.” I stood there and he said, 
‘ ‘ What—ahem!—are you waiting for ? ” So I said, 
“I’m waiting for my pay.’’ He said. ‘‘Oh, ahem! 


SELECT/OJVS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 85 

I didn’t know you wanted—ahem!—remoonera- 
tion. I thought—ahem!—it was—ahem!—an act 
of neighborly kindness.” He fished in his pocket, 
and at last pulled out a dime. Then he pulled out 
a nickel from another pocket and I held out my 
hand to take it, and he put it back in his pocket 
same as he had the dime. Then he brought out a 
whole handful of change, and picked out two 
pennies and handed ’em to me, but I handed one 
back, and he says, “ Ahem!—what is this for?” and 
I said I’d decided not to take more than I really 
earned. 

The next place I went was Serfet’s. Mrs. Serfet 
came to the door and she gave a little giggle and 
says, “Oh, tee-hee, if it isn’t my little Willy boy! 
What does Willy boy want?—tee-hee! ” I said 
could I clean her sidewalk. An’ she said, “Of 
course—tee-hee!” And she stood in the door till I 
finished, then she gave me a dime. 

Then I went to Miss Adams. She’s an unmar¬ 
ried lady what lives all alone with herself and dog, 
Toodles, and her cat, Teedums. She was perfectly 
willing for me to clean her sidewalk, and after I 
was done, she brought out a broom for me to sweep 
it, and then she went over it with a magnifying 
glass, and every two seconds she’d say, “Here’s 
a little snow,” and I’d have to sweep it again. 
Then Toodles came out to see what was going on, 
and tracked the nice clean walk all up, and I had 
to begin again. When I got through she said I 
might as well carry out the ashes. So I did. Then 
she said I could take Toodles and Teedums round 
the block. So I went around the block with ’em. 
I gave ’em some exercise all right. Well, I thought 
I was through, but Miss Adams says, “William, 
I’ve been looking for a chance to send a crochet 
pattern to Mrs. Miles, and won’t you take it ?” And 


86 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 

on my way back I could stop at the grocery store, 
and get a pound of tea—oolong tea, remember— 
and a dozen eggs, half a dozen molasses cookies, and 
a pound of pork chops—cut thin. They must be 
thin, because Toodles wouldn’t eat them thick. 
The eggs must be fresh, because Teedums wouldn’t 
eat a stale egg. She gave me two dollars and said 
I could keep the change. She thought that would 
be about right for the time I had worked. 

It was ten blocks to Mrs. Miles, and I was like 
ice all over, except one of my ears which still hurt a 
little. Mrs. Miles just says, ‘ ‘ Thanks, ’ ’ and ‘ * Don’t 
track up the porch,” and shut the door. I didn’t 
have the nerve to ask to get warm. I hadn’t gone 
more than a block on the way back when my ear 
stopped hurting. 

When I paid for the order, guess how much 
change I got back. Just six cents! Well, I went 
back to Miss Adams’ and just dumped the things 
down and beat it. I was afraid I’d be late for 
school. I went up on the porch, and the next thing 
I knew I was in bed. Mamma was rubbing my 
head, Aunt Jane was fanning me, Sis was crying 
in the corner, Grandma was putting a hot water 
bottle to my feet, cook was bringing me a cup of 
beef tea, and Dad was twisting the bed covers in 
his hands, and Uncle Jimmy was saying, “You’re 
sure he’ll be all right, Doctor?” Then I saw Dr. 
Gambol with his big glasses. He felt my pulse and 
gave me some stuff in a glass. Then I drank the 
beef tea and I heard him say, “Keep him in bed a 
couple of days,” then I turned over and went to 
sleep. 

When I woke up my ears was all swelled and 
sore and I ached all over. Grandma came in and 
I shut my eyes, but she just put something on my 
pillow. When she was gone, I looked and it was 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 87 

five pennies. Then I heard Mamma and Dad out¬ 
side the door. Mamma said, “I’m not going to 
have William freezing himself to death because you 
won’t give him an allowance. Ten below zero, and 
that blessed boy out trying to earn some money! 
And what did he get for it? Seventeen cents! 
I won’t have it, I tell you!” Dad said, “All right, 
Louise, just as you say.” So I’m going to get my 
allowance after all. 

Pretty soon mamma came in with a bowl of soup, 
and gave me a quarter. I put it with the five 
pennies in the pillow-case. When Sis came home 
from school she came in, asked me how I felt now 
and gave me a dime. There were three nickels 
from Aunt Jane on my supper tray, and when Dad 
came in to say good-night, he gave me fifty cents. 
This morning Uncle Jimmy put two dimes under 
my grapefruit. 

This afternoon Sally came in after school and 
brung me a piece of cake, and she says, “William, 
I am sorry. It was all my fault and I ’ll never call 
you nigger again, and say, William, Jimmy never 
earned no money at all. He said he did, but I 
found out that his father paid him fifteen cents a 
week to keep the walks clean.” So I says, “Oh, 
never mind, Sally, that’s all right, and will you 
be my girl again? ” She nodded her braids up and 
down, then we ate the cake, only she ate all the 
frosting, then she said good-bye, and she was glad 
I liked the cake, because her mother made the 
frosting thick special for me. 

Oh, well, girls are funny anyway! 

—Carlotta Crofts. 



88 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


A LITTLE GIRL’S RECEIPT 

I don’t see why the big folks all 
Need to go to cooking school, 

For it’s easy enough to make a cake, 
If you make it by this rule. 


First you must have an apron 
That you’re not afraid to hurt, 
For in this recipe we use 
For flour, sifted dirt. 


Then dig with an iron spoon 
A hole in the cool, dark ground, 
And put in dirt and water, 
Stirring it round and round. 


And then a handful of pebbles, 
You’d best put into the dough. 
What are these for ? In this recipe 
Pebbles are raisins, you know. 


And when you get it all thick enough, 
You make it into a cake, 

And put it on a nice clean board, 

And set in the sun to bake. 


Dear me! I’d most forgot to say 
You must sprinkle with sugar (or 
sand), 

And when they’re done, no better cakes 
Will be found in Children’s land. 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 89 

That’s all. You see, to learn to cook 
You don’t need to make a fuss, 

Though mamma says, when she comes 
to the door, 

4 ‘Why, Bessie, child! What a muss!” 

—Ethel E. Sleeper , in 
‘‘ Good Housekeeping. ’’ 


A LITTLE SINNER 

I wish you would just let me be! 

No, I’m not at all sick, and I didn’t get hurt; 

And I do not see why you are calling me “pert.” 
It was you spoke to me! 

Oh, yes! I suppose I must go— 

You’re a great big tall lady, and I’m very small, 
And I couldn’t put you in the closet at all; 

But there’s one thing I know— 

If I had a dear little girl, 

I’d not make a fuss when she just tore her dress, 
Or called old rice pudding a horrible mess, 

Or her hair wouldn’t curl! 

But you needn’t look so any more— 

I’m ’most to the closet, and I don’t care a bit, 

But I hope I ’ll be all wriggled up in a fit 
When you open the door! 

(After an interval of ten minutes.) 

Mamma! will you open it now ? 

I’m a little bit sorry—please let me come out! 

I ’most forgot what I was naughty about, 

But I won’t anyhow! 



90 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 

(After an interval of twenty yninutes.) 

I’m ever so sorry—I know I was bad; 

I ’ll forgive that old pudding for making me mad; 
I’ll be good, mamma dear! 

Mamma, may I just have my dolly? 

I’m so lonesome in here—oh, mamma, won’t you, 
please ? 

I’m sitting right down by the door, on my knees— 
I’m your own little Polly! 

(The door opens.) 

Oh, my preciousest best little mother! 

I will never be naughty, no, never again! 

My heart was all broken—it gave me a pain— 

And I thought I should smother! 


MARY AND THE BROOK 

‘ ‘ Stop, stop, pretty water! ’ ’ 
Said Mary one day, 

To a dear little brook 
That was running away. 

1 ‘You run on so fast! 

I wish you would stay; 

My boat and my flowers 
You will carry away. 

“But I will run after,— 
Mother says that I may,— 
For I would know where 
You are running away.” 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 91 


So Mary ran on; 

But I have heard say, 

That she never could find 
Where the brook ran away. 


ME AN’ BAB 

Me an’ Bab we went to church, an’ Bab she saw 
a mouse. An’—course she wanted to catch him. 
An’ she slipped out under my sack, where I’d hid 
her when we went to church, and was out of the 
pew quicker’n no time. 

Well, my Pa’s a dicken, an’ he had a correction- 
box, an’ he was a-leanin’ over with the correction- 
box stretched out so’t Frankie Hill, what sat in the 
farthest corner, could put in a cent, an’ all the 
people was givin’ centses, too, an’ ten cents, too, 
an’ five cents, too, an’ he was a-stretchin’ out the 
correction-box to Frankie, an’ just then the mouse 
ran right across his feet an’ Bab after him. An’ 
my Papa he give a queer sort of a cry, an’ dropped 
the correction-box, and all the centses fell on the 
floor in Frankie Hill’s pew, an’—an’ my Pa’s face 
went redder’n red, an’ his ears an’ his neck, an’ he 
turns round an’ sees our Bab scamperin’ after the 
mouse, an’ he started to go after her, an’ every¬ 
body on our side was a-lookin’ at Bab, an’ the peo¬ 
ple on the other side, that couldn’t see Bab, was 
lookin’ at my Pa, an’ then they all looked at Mr. 
Green—that’s the minister—an’ Mr. Green, he was 
lookin’ orful solemn. An’ the mouse ran acrost the 
raised place with red carpet, where the minister 
sits, an’ he ran under his chair, an’ Bab after him. 
An’ all the dickens had laid down their correction- 
boxes an ’ was goin ’ there, too—not under the chair, 



92 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


I don’t mean—but up to the raised place with red 
carpet, an’ the mouse he scampered to the door 
that’s one side of where the min’ster sits, an’ he 
couldn’t get out, an’ there wasn’t no hole for him, 
and Bab was after him lickety split, an’—an’ he 
come back an’ ran into old Miss Tromley’s pew, 
an’ she screamed an’ ran out, an’ then there was a 
regular scrimmage; an’ the dickens was all mixed 
up, an’ Bab was among their feet, an’ my Pa he 
stooped down, an’ then he came down ’tween the 
pews with Bab in his arms, an’ his face was orful. 
An’ he went out with Bab, an’ the other dickens 
went for their boxes. 

An’ Mr. Green he dropped his hank-cher, an’ 
he was orful long pickin’ it up; an’ then he 
shooked all over just like he did when my Pa told 
that story about the dicken what put the wrong 
plaster on his nose; an ’ everybody was laughin ’, but 
I was cryin’, ’cause I didn’t know what my Pa 
would do to Bab or—or—me. 

An’ Frankie Hill was pickin’ up cents in his 
pew when my Pa corned back; an’ he took me by 
the arm an’ led me out of church, an’ says, very 
stern: 

“Go home!” 

An’ our house is close by, so I went all by my¬ 
self, an’ my Pa went back to his correction-box. 
An’ I don’t know what came of the mouse; but 
Jemima Jane says it’s a good thing my Ma’s away, 
an’ I’ll get a proper “correction-box” when she 
gets home. 


—Joy Vetrepont. 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


ME AND MA—AND PA 

I don’t know what I’d ever do 
If ’twasn’t fer my Ma; 

I guess I ’d have a nawful time 
If I had just my Pa. 

If anything goes wrong with me, 

If I get hurt or sick, 

Or have a fight, or something else, 

I want Ma mighty quick. 

Sometimes I go out with the boys 
An’ don’t get back on time. 

Then Pa will roar, but Ma will say— 

* ‘ Why, he ain’t done no crime!’ ’ 
Sometimes I don’t do what I’m told— 
Forgettin’ it, you know— 

And Pa will say, “You’ll ketch it now 
But Ma will say, ‘ ‘ Aw, no! ” 


Sometimes I simply gotta have 
A nickel or a dime; 

An’ Pa will say, “You betchye don’t! 

But Ma will say, ‘ ‘ This time! ’ ’ 
Sometimes I break things round the 
house— 

A plate or glass or cup. 

You bet I keep away from Pa, 

An’ let Ma fix it up. 


It seems like everything I do 
Pa doesn’t like a bit, 

While everything, no matter what, 
Ma kind of takes to it. 


94 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 

I’m mighty glad I ’ve got some one 
To go ’tween me and Pa— 

I don’t know what I’d ever do 
If ’twasn’t fer my Ma! 

—Cleveland Leader. 


MR. HIGH-HOPPER GRASSHOPPER 

Once there was a high-hopping green grasshopper 
that hopped ont in the green grass, in the spring¬ 
time, in the warm sunshine, when all the birds 
sang, under the Low-Limbed Hump Tree, where all 
the other green grasshoppers hopped. 

But he hopped higher than all the other green 
grasshoppers so they called him “High-Hopper 
Grasshopper” and thought him a very wonderful 
hopper indeed. 

So out in the green grass, in the springtime, in 
the warm sunshine, when all the birds sang, under 
the Low-Limbed Hump Tree, all the other green 
grasshoppers hopped around in a circle to see High- 
Hopper Grasshopper hop. 

And he hopped and skipped about wonderfully 
to show himself oft in the best manner possible be¬ 
fore them, and as I said before, they thought him 
very wonderful indeed,—in fact they thought him 
the highest-hopping green grasshopper that hopped 
in all the great extent of country lying around the 
Low-Limbed Hump Tree. 

But they didn’t think him half so high a hopper 
as High-Hopper Grasshopper thought himself. He 
thought himself not only the highest-hopping green 
grasshopper in all the great extent of country lying 
around the Low-Limbed Hump Tree, but he thought 
he was the high, high, highest high-hopping green 
grasshopper in all the world. 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 95 

And he became so puffed up and spurred on by 
flattery of all the other green grasshoppers, that 
one day he said he’d hop to prove it to them; he 
said he’d hop right out of sight; he said he’d hop 
right up and kick a piece out of the sun; he said 
that what the sun needed was to have a hole kicked 
in him to make him shine real bright; he said they 
needn’t expect to see him again,—he’d just stay 
right up there and teach the sun how to shine; 
what the sun needed was some one like a first-class 
high-hopping green grasshopper to teach him how 
to shine, anyway. 

And High-Hopper Grasshopper said he’d hop 
three times; he said the first time he’d hop way up 
out of the grass; he said the second time he’d hop 
half way to the lowest limb of the Low-Limbed 
Hump Tree; and he said the third time he’d hop 
right out of sight; and if the sun grew brighter, 
they’d know he’d kicked a piece out. 

Now Big Bill Brown Bird was sitting in the 
Low-Limbed Hump Tree, and he was a very curious 
bird indeed, so he moved along down on the lowest 
limb, to see what all this talking and hopping was 
about anyway. 

And High-Hopper Grasshopper made his first 
hop, way up out of the grass, and all the green 
grasshoppers sitting around in a circle looking on, 
in the springtime, in the warm sunshine, when all 
the birds sang, under the Low-Limbed Hump Tree, 
where all the other green grasshoppers hopped, 
said, “Oh, my! what a beautiful hop!” and Big 
Bill Brown Bird slowly and cautiously winked his 
right eye, so as to make it see better, you know. 

And High-Hopper Grasshopper made his second 
hop, oh, half-way up to the lowest limb of the Low- 
Limbed Hump Tree; and all the other green grass¬ 
hoppers sitting around in a circle, looking on, in the 


96 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 

green grass, in the springtime, in the warm sun¬ 
shine, when all the birds sang, under the Low- 
Limbed Hump Tree, where all the other green 
grasshoppers hopped, said, “My goodness gracious! 
what a hop! ’ ’ 

And Big Bill Brown Bird slowly opened wide 
his big bill in utter astonishment and forgot to 
shut it. 

Then High-Hopper Grasshopper made his last 
hop, and Big Bill Brown Bird, suddenly remem- 
ing himself, shut his bill quickly, and the sun ap¬ 
peared from behind a cloud, shining more brightly 
than ever, and the green grasshoppers sitting 
around in a circle looking on, in the green grass, 
in the springtime, in the warm sunshine, when all 
the birds sang under the Low-Limbed Hump Tree, 
where all the other green grasshoppers hopped, 
said, “Heavens! he’s kicked the sun!” 

Then Big Bill Brown Bird, sitting on the lowest 
limb of the Low-Limbed Hump Tree, listening in¬ 
tently, gave a sudden jerk of his tail, and slowly 
and cautiously winked his left eye, so as to rest it 
after seeing such a high jump, I suppose, and flew 
away. 

—From The Hump Tree Stories, by Mary Joss 
Jones. Published by Paul Elder and Co., 
San Francisco. 


THE MONITOR 

OP clock a-stan’in’ on de mantel shelf; 

Nuffin’ much to do excep’ a-talkin’ to hisself; 
Tellin’ ’bout de seconds an’ de minutes an’ de 
hours, 

Countin’ off de days between de snow-storm an’ 
de flowers; 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 97 


Jes’ a sing-song story, for de mos’ he has to say 

Is: “Yesterday was jes’ about de same thing as 
to-day; ’ ’ 

An’ de days dat’s still a-comin’ you is gwinter find 
at last, 

Is purty much as you was used to in de past. 

So, what’s de good o’ waitin’ ’f you sees a chance 
to smile, 

A thinkin’ dat de laughter may be better after 
while ? 

An’ what’s de good 0’ sighin’ foh de hopes of long 
ago, 

When de present has its prospects, same as what de 
past could show? 

Say, chillun, is you strivin’ on an’ smilin’ in de 
Now, 

Or is you jes’ complainin’ ’bout de whyfore an’ de 
how, 

Or fixin’ up a future dat’ll fine you on de shelf, 

Wif nuffin’ much to do excep’ a-talkin’ to your¬ 
self? 

—Washington Star. 


MY CLOCK 

My little clock, my pretty clock, 

He lives upon the shelf, 

He stands on four round golden feet, 
And so supports himself. 

His face is very white and clean, 

His hands are very black; 

He has no soap to wash them with, 
And suffers from the lack. 



98 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 

He holds them up, his grimy hands, 

And points at me all day; 

‘ ‘ Make haste! make haste! the moments 
waste, ’’ 

He always seems to say. 

“Tick, tock! tick, tock! I am a clock, 

I’m always up to time; 

Ding, dong! ding, dong! the whole day 
long, 

My silver warnings chime. 

“Tick, tock! tick, tock! ’tisnine o’clock, 

And time to go to school; 

Don’t loiter ’mid the buttercups, 

Or by the wayside pool. 

i ‘ Ding, dong! tick, tock! ’tis two o ’clock, 

The dinner’s getting cold; 

You’d better hurry down, you child, 

Or your mamma will scold. 

11 Tick, tock! tick, tock! ’tis six o ’clock, 
You’ve had the afternoon 
To romp and play, so now come in; 

Your tea’ll be ready soon. 

“Tick, tock! tick, tock! ’tis eight o’clock. 

To bed, to bed, my dear! 

Sleep sound until I waken you, 

When day is shining clear. ’ ’ 

So through the night, and through the day, 

My busy little clock 

He talks and scolds and talks away, 

With ceaseless “tick” and “tock.” 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 99 

But, warning others from his shelf, 

As all day long he stands, 

He never thinks to warn himself, 

He ’ll never wash his hands. 

—“The Youth’s Companion .” 


NO POCKET 

It was at Katie McPherson’s Christmas party 
that the announcement was made in the dining¬ 
room, where the children were partaking of the 
good things, and it was Jimmy Johnson who made 
it. “Bushy Caruthers ain’t got no pocket!” 
Jimmy Johnson delivered this in such a manner as 
he might have used had he said, ‘ ‘ Bushy Caruthers 
ain’t got no thumbs,” or “Bushy Caruthers ain’t 
got no nose! ’ ’ 

“Hasn’t he? I’m glad I’m not Bushy Caru¬ 
thers. ’ ’ 

“No, he ain’t got no pocket!” 

Tom Mayner, who was large of his age, ex¬ 
claimed, “That’s ’cause he’s a little boy!” 

Away rushed Nellie Partridge to another group 
of children and repeated, “Say, Bushy Caruthers 
ain’t got no pocket! Did you ever! My, what will 
he do?” 

So the news spread, until everybody knew that 
Bushy Caruthers was so unfortunate as to be at a 
party, where there were all sorts of good things, and 
where there was a Christmas tree, and had no 
pocket. What made it worse was that Mrs. Mc¬ 
Pherson always insisted at Katie’s parties that the 
children fill their pockets to take home. After a 
while word reached Bushy himself. Of course he 



IOO SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


knew he hadn’t any pocket, but it was not until 
he had seen the look of pity on the little faces that 
he had any idea of the size of his misfortune. Poor 
Bushy! First he thought he ought to cry, but when 
some one advised, '‘Never mind, Bushy, you just 
eat all the candy and jelly and nuts and cake you 
can hold, ’ ’ he braced up like a man and began stor¬ 
ing away the goodies. At the end of fifteen min¬ 
utes he probably discovered the limits of his ca¬ 
pacity, for he went over to his papa with both 
hands full of candies and emptied them into his big 
coat pocket. 

“What does this mean, Bushy?” 

‘ ‘ I ain’t got no pocket. ’ * 

“You have no pocket, you mean.” 

“Yes, sir, I haven’t no pocket.” 

It was not long after that that the folds of 
Mamma’s dress were disturbed, and into her pocket 
streamed the candies. “I ain’t got no pocket, 
Mamma, and Katie says we must all take home 
something. ’ ’ 

Again and again was the dress pocket visited. 
Then Bushy’s sister, Minnie, was asked to lend the 
aid of her pocket to the pocketless boy. Besides 
this, Bobby, whose home was just across the street 
from Bushy’s, lent one-quarter of his pocket. Then 
Minnie, who lived next door, gave on e-half of hers. 

But it was when the children went into the large- 
room where the Christmas tree stood, that Bushy’s 
concern reached its height. 

“S’pose I was to get a great lot of things—that 
ball, and that top and that drum, and that trumpet, 
and that whistle, and oh! them two washing heathen 
Chinese, and that cannon, and that velocipede, and 
that locomotive, and that wheelbarrow, and a great 
lot more, how could I get them home, ’cause I ain’t 
got no pocket! ’ ’ 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS IOI 


“Put them in the wheelbarrow, and wheel them 
home. ’ ’ 

Sure enough, Bushy did get the wheelbarrow, and 
soon had it loaded up. 

When that and all the pockets were unloaded at 
Bushy’s home, you should have seen the heaps of 
candy, piles of cake, quantities of nuts, mottoes and 
lady fingers! 

“ Mamma, don’t ever—don’t ever put pockets in 
my party clothes!” 


OUR MENAGERIE 

Last week—or maybe ’twasn’t last week—but it 
was once, my Uncle Jack, who owns a grocery store, 
sent me two boxes of nice animal crackers. The 
boxes looked like circus wagons. 

My brother Teddy said, “Now we can have lots 
of fun!” ’N’ I said, “What’s the idea of we? 
They’re my crackers!” ’N’ Teddy said, “You 
ain’t going to be a stingy! I ’ll show you what we 
can do.” 

So he got some spools and sticks and made some 
wheels under the boxes, and we drew them around 
on the piazza ’n’ played circus parade. 

Then Teddy said we’d open the boxes and set up 
the animals and have a circus. So we did. We 
made the elephants and the monkeys do tricks, and 
the lions roar, and had heaps of fun. 

Pretty soon we got tired of that, and Teddy got 
the gun that goes with his wooden soldiers, and he 
said, “Now, I’ll shoot at the cracker animals, and 
all I hit and break, we can eat.” I didn’t want all 
my nice animals broke in two, but Teddy said, 



102 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


‘ ‘ What’s they for, anyhow ? Why, don’t you know 
—they’re t’ eat! We’ve played circus long 
enough. Anyhow, they’ll be easier t’ eat when 
they’re broken, and you won’t want to keep ’em 
any longer. ’ ’ 

So he shot down a monkey and busted his tail 
off, ’n’ said, “Now, you begin. Eat him ’n’ see 
’f ’e ain’t good.” ’N’ I did, ’n’ he was. Then 
Teddy hit a elephant, ’n’ off came his trunk, ’n’ 
Teddy et him. ’N’ so we just kep’ on, ’n’ ’twas 
great fun! 

Old Mrs. Johnson ’cross the street came over ’n’ 
looked at us, ’n’ said, “My! are you children eat¬ 
ing those after they’ve been all over the piazza 
floor? Don’t you know that they probably have 
microbes ? ’ ’ 

’N’ I said, “No, they haven’t. It’s just ele¬ 
phants ’n’ giraffes ’n’ hippopotamuses ’n’ bears. 
We ain’t found any microbes.” ’N’ she said, 
“You can’t see them, but they are in the dirt and 
they make you sick.” ’N’ Teddy said, “Oh, 
pshaw! My mother just washed all the dirt off’n 
this piazza with the hose.” ’N’ Mrs. Johnson sort 
o’ threw up her hands ’n’ went home. 

So I et two hippopotamuses, ’n’ three elephants 
’n’ a giraffe ’n’ three-four camels ’n’ some lions ’n’ 
six monkeys ’n ’ a bear, ’n ’ I dunno what Teddy et, 
but anyhow, bymby I began to have a nawful pain 
’n’ I just had to go in ’n’ tell mother. She put me 
to bed, ’n’ tel’phoned for Dr. Bunty, who’s a naw¬ 
ful nice man ’n’ a friend of my Dad’s. ’N’ he came 
’n’ said, “My! My! Has my little Betty been 
eating too many ice-cream cones again?” 

’N’ I said, “No, sir, it was just animal crackers, 
’n’ no microbes, less’n Mrs. Johnson brought some 
over. ’Twas just elephants ’n’ giraffes ’n’ monkeys 
’n’ hippopotamuses ’n’ bears ’n’ tigers.” 


SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 103 


’N’ Dr. Bunty said, “Didn’t you know a little 
girl shouldn’t eat a whole menagerie? Now, I’ll 
have to give her a counteract for that.” 

’N’ I said, “I won’t eat a counteract. I’ve had 
enough animals now!” 

He said, “If mother’ll bring me a teaspoon and 
a glass about half full of water, I’ll show you that 
the counteract is the nicest animal of all and will 
cure that awful pain.” 

But I shut my mouth tight and cried and 
wouldn’t take it. 

Then Dr. Bunty said, “If you’ll swallow a tea¬ 
spoonful of this every hour, I’ll take you to the 
real circus next week.” 

I said, “Will you take Teddy, too?” ’N’ he 
said he would. 

The counteract was nothing but some sweetish, 
greenish water. So I took it and was real good 
about it. 

And next week, or maybe ’twas last week by now, 
Dr. Bunty, who hasn’t any little boys or girls of 
his own, took Teddy ’n’ me to the circus ’n’ we 
saw real tigers ’n’ elephants ’n’ lions ’n’ giraffes 
’n’ monkeys, ’n’ had ice-cream cones, ’n’ my Daddy 
said he spent more on us ’n his bill ’mounted to. 

’N ’ I don’t know what became of the rest of the 
animal crackers, but anyhow there wasn’t many 
left, ’n’ I guess Gippy et ’em. 

—Helen Chaffee Workman. 


PARTNERSHIP 

You needn’t be looking around at me so, 

She’s my kitten as much as your kitten, you know, 
And I’ll take her wherever I wish her to go! 



104 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


Yon know very well that the day she was found, 
If I hadn’t cried she’d surely been drowned; 

And you ought to be thankful she’s here safe and 
sound. 

She’s only crying ’cause she’s a goose, 

I’m not squeezing her, look now, my arms are quite 
loose, 

And she may as well hush, for it’s not any use. 

And you may as well get right down and go ’way; 
You’re not in the thing we’re going to play; 

And remember, it isn’t your half of the day. 

You’re forgetting the bargain we made, and so 
soon! 

In the morning she’s mine, and yours all afternoon, 
And you couldn’t teach her to eat with a spoon. 

So don’t let me hear one single mew! 

Do you know what will happen right off if you do ? 
She’ll be my kitten mornings and afternoons too. 

—Margaret Vandegrift. 


A QUEER HOLE 

I have heard of a boy, who lived long ago; 
Such boys are not found nowadays, you know; 
Whose friends were as troubled as they could be 
Because of a hole in his memory. 

A charge from his mother went in one day, 
And the boy said, “Yes,” and hurried away; 
But he met a man with a musical top, 

And his mother’s words through that hole did 
drop. 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 105 


A lesson went in; but ah me! ah me! 

For a boy with a hole in his memory! 

When he rose to recite, he was all in a doubt; 
Every word of that lesson had fallen out. 

And at last, at last—oh, terrible lot!— 

He could speak only two words: “I forgot.” 
Would it not be sad, indeed, to be 
A boy with a hole in his memory ? 


A QUESTION OF POSSESSION 

“Whose boy are you?” they said, 
In playful way to Fred. 
‘‘Sometimes I’m Ma’s,” said he, 
“And sometimes Pa’s, you see. 


“For when I took the prize 
At school, Pa rolled his eyes, 
And said, ‘My boy’s a brick, 
And sharp as the Old Nick! ’ 


“But when I smashed his hat, 

He said, ‘Now, look at that!’ 

(To Ma) ‘Well, this is fun; 

See what your boy has done!’ ” 

—Myrtle Koon Cherryman. 




106 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


THE SPOILED DARLING 

Oh, the ruffles there were on that little dress, 
Fanny! 

Her mamma does dress her so sweetly, you know; 
And the prettiest sash of pale rose-colored satin, 
Tied at her waist in a butterfly bow. 


And her soft, flossy hair, almost a rose-yellow, 

Like the roses we had in our garden, last year, 
Cut short round the fairest, blue-veined little fore¬ 
head— 

Oh, if Miss Marion wasn ’t a dear! 


Just perfect she was, the mite of a darling, 

From her flower of a head to her pink slipper 
toes! 

You will laugh, but she seemed as I looked at her, 
Fanny, 

A little girl copied right after a rose! 


Well, you know how it is; they have petted the 
darling, 

Her papa and mamma, her uncles and aunts— 
Till, saving the moon, which they can’t get for 
princes, 

There isn’t a thing but she has if she wants. 


And so, last night, at the Christmas tree, Fanny, 
—It was so funny I laugh at it now— 

There was Miss Marion, sweeter than honey, 

All in her ruffles and butterfly bow. 


10 7 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


She had presents, I thought, enough for a dozen, 
But she seemed heavy-hearted in spite of it all; 
Her sweet little mouth was all of a quiver, 

And there was a teardrop just ready to fall. 

The aunts and the cousins all round her came 
crowding; 

“ And what is the matter, my darling, my dear?” 
She didn’t look sulky, but grieved; and I saw it 
Roll down her pink cheek, that trembling tear; 

I scarcely could blame her—she didn’t seem angry, 
But grieved to the heart, the queer little mite; 
And ’twasn’t her fault—she’d been fed so much 
honey, 

All the sweet in the world she took as her right. 

And she lisped out so honest, “Mamie and Bessie, 
And the rest, have presents—and ’twas my Trist- 
mas tree; 

And when I tame in, I fought that the presents— 
The whole of them on it—of tourse, were for 
me!” 


THE STORM CLOUDS’ SNOW MEN 

Yesterday the snow was high, 

And warm and bright the sun, 

So Meg and Joe and Bess and I 
Went out to have some fun. 

We piled the snow to monstrous size, 
Then made—what do you think? 

A man of snow, with nose and eyes 
Of Auntie’s colored ink. 



108 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


To-day, as through the glass we peep 
We see a world all new; 

The storm clouds, while we were asleep, 
Have played at snow-man, too. 

The pump’s a soldier with one arm, 

Our man wears coat and hat, 

In line the fence-posts wait alarm 
From General Hitch-post, fat. 

We play these men are warriors, bold, 

To storm our castle walls, 

So, like the knights in stories old, 

We stay within our halls. 

They’ll see that to our hearth side warm 
They can’t break in to-day, 

And soon give up, and cease their ‘ ‘ storm,’ 9 
Then we’ll go out to play. 

—Helen Chaffee Workman . 


A TRAGEDY 

Sir Johnnycake with Miss Charlotte Russe 
Fell deeply in love, poor thing, 

And when their engagement came to pass 
He gave her a doughnut ring. 

Though some esteemed her too sweet for him, 
Predicting in woe she’d plunge, 

A few of her closest friends declared 
They knew her to be a sponge. 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 109 


Alas, they came to a tragic fate! 

When the family came to sup, 

Both he and she and the doughnut ring 
Were all of them eaten up! 


TRUTH 

Yes, Mrs. Brown, I’ve had a lovely visit, 

I always have whenever I come here. 

Your Katy entertains so very nicely— 

I mean it, ’pon my honor, Katy dear! 

I truly don’t know where the time has vanished; 

It gave me quite a funny kind of shock 
To find my visit done, and find, moreover, 
There wasn’t any trouble with your clock! 

So now I think I’d better get my things on. 

Yes, Katy, I must go, for don’t you see, 
Mamma this morning told me when I started, 

“ Bessie, you’d better be at home by three.” 

You ask me if I’d like to stay to dinner? 

(I knew that nice smell came from roasting 
meat!) 

Oh, no, I thank you, Mrs. Brown, I couldn’t. 

(They do have such delightful things to eat!) 

You say you’re sure mamma will not be worried? 

And Katy wants me so, and little Will? 

You really wish I’d stay? Well, since you urge 
me, 

Why, thank you, Mrs. Brown, I think I will. 



IIO SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


I hope my conduct doesn’t seem peculiar, 

But then mamma said, when I went away, 
“Now mind that you don’t stay to dinner, Bessie, 
Unless they urge you very much to stay. ’ ’ 


VACATION 

The school-bell was heard to complain, 
“I’ve rung till I’m almost insane, 

Yet the children play 
The whole livelong day, 

And the teacher’s gone off on the train.” 

The ink-bottle said with a sigh, 

“I find life exceedingly dry, 

One feels very low, 

Quite used up, you know, 

When it comes to the first of July.” 

* 4 1 need rest, so my doctors say, ’ ’ 

Cried the spelling-book, where he lay, 

* ‘ And it can’t be denied 
I’ve a stitch in my side, 

I shall turn a new leaf from to-day.” 

—“The Youth's Companion .” 


A VERY GOOD LITTLE GIRL 

She never sighs, 

She never grumbles, 

She never cries 
When down she tumbles, 




SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS III 

She never soils her pretty dresses, 

She never spoils her silken tresses, 

She never quarrels at her play, 

She’s glad and cheerful all the day. 

I love to hold her in my arms 
And kiss and kiss her for her charms. 

Oh, she’s the sweetest little girl, 

And precious as a costly pearl. 

What is her name? It’s just plain 
Polly, 

And she’s my dearest, dearest dolly. 


WHEN AUNT VISITS US 

When our aunt visits us, Pop says 
‘I hope you won’t forget she’s rich,” 
And I says “nope” and then he says, 
‘You want to recklect she may leave 
Something when she dies; ” I ’spect 
She ain’t much to look at 
But you know looks don’t matter 
When you’ve got the dough. 


So when she came I called her Auntie dear, 

Pop took her things and said, “Why, Aunt, 
How young you look.” 

But my! What clothes she had, she looked so 
queer 

I almost laughed right in her face. 

Pop took her coat and Ma she took her hat, 

And all they said was ‘ ‘ Auntie this and that; ’ ’ 
Then afterward she held me on her knee and says, 
What a dear child you have grown to be! ” 



112 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


Ma says, ‘‘The dear boy couldn’t hardly wait 
To see you, when he heard his dear Aunt Kate 
Was coming on a visit to us.” 

My! I never heard Ma tell so big a lie! 

Then Auntie says, ‘ ‘ Why do you love me so ? ” 
And I says, “Why because you’ve got the 
dough.” 

Oh my! She got up in an awful huff 
And said she guessed she’d stayed there long 
enough. 

Ma tried to argue but Aunt says, “No, Ruth! 
You know all fools and children tell the truth.” 
Pop was red-headed when Ma told him what I 
said, 

And he says, “We might ’a’ got 
Her money when she died, but now 
You’ve went and done it and 
We’ll never get a cent.” 

It’s all right to love people for their dough, 

But goodness sakes alive! Don’t tell them so. 

—“Life.” 


THE WICKED JUMPING JACK 

Christmas eve, the old clock stood in the corner 
and sang “tick-tock” until everything else in the 
room had gone to sleep, everything but the jump¬ 
ing jack. 

“Tick-tock,” said the clock and then it looked 
right at the jumping jack and asked, “Why 
haven’t you gone to sleep, too?” 

“I’m waiting for Santa Claus.” 

“Waiting for Santa Claus! Why you don’t sup- 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 11 3 

pose Santa Claus will bring you anything, do 
you ? ’ ’ 

“I need it bad enough. I fell into the wash¬ 
basin three weeks ago and by the time I was pulled 
out and dried, I had lost all the beautiful red 
stripes and yellow buttons off my coat and this left 
eye of mine faded from a lovely purple to a dirty 
lavender. I have been the sickest jumping jack in 
town ever since.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, pshaw! Handsome is that handsome does, 
tick-tock! ’’ 

“But I shall be all right in the morning, for my 
little mistress Bertha put me here by the fire to¬ 
night and whispered up the chimney, ‘ Please, Santa 
Claus, bring me a new eye and a new suit of clothes 
for jumping jack and please, Santa Claus, bring 
me a nice box of candy. ’ ’ 

“So you like Bertha, do you?” 

“No, not very much, for she dropped me in the 
wash-basin, you know, and then, too, she makes me 
jump when I don’t want to. Last week she pulled 
me so hard the string broke. ’’ 

Now, while the old clock and the jumping jack 
were talking together, and Bertha lay fast asleep 
in her crib, there came the sound of sleigh bells and 
the noise of some one slipping down the chimney. 

But, instead of Santa Claus, there came out of 
the chimney and stood on the hearth a very fat and 
very sleepy looking boy. He wore fur clothes, a 
fur cap and the first thing he did was to yawn. 

“You’re not Santa Claus, are you?” said the 
jumping jack. 

“No, I’m Santa Claus’s boy.” 

“What on earth are you doing here this time of 
night ?’ ’ 

‘ ‘ Why, father was so busy that he sent me down 
here with this box of candy, and this box of paints. 


114 SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 


One of them is for—let me see—he said to give the 
candy to the jumping jack, and—no—that wasn’t 
it! I am to paint Bertha—no, I’m sure I don’t 
remember what he did tell me to do, but here is the 
candy and here are the paints. ’ ’ 

Just then a wicked thought came to the jumping 
jack. He winked his one eye at the clock, and then 
said to the boy, “I know all about this and I’ll tell 
you what to do. The box of candy is for me and 
you are to paint Bertha. You’ll find her in the 
crib over there. Put some red stripes and yellow 
buttons on her and don’t forget to give her a new 
purple eye.” 

The boy was foolish enough to believe the wicked 
jumping jack, and then, oh—horrible! He went 
to the crib and painted red stripes and yellow 
buttons all over poor little Bertha, and having done 
that he painted one of her beautiful blue eyes (the 
left one) an awful purple. Then he climbed up the 
chimney again, and the jumping jack thought it 
was a good joke. 

“Now I have got even with that child, she won’t 
make me jump, no—not for another year at least!” 

But the old clock was so surprised that it could 
only say ‘ ‘ tick-tock-tick-tock, ” over and over 
again, and these tick-tocks were so sad that tears 
of sorrow filled the eyes of the needles in the work- 
basket. 


A WISE DECISION 

On little Annie’s valentine, 

With long hair all a-curl, 

With gay guitar and doublet fine, 
A-singing to his girl,— 



SELECTIONS FOR SMALL SPEAKERS 11 5 


A love-lorn troubadour is seen. 

Said Annie, “Jamie, say, 

Is dat de man will ask to me 
Come live wiv him some day?” 

Said Jamie—wiser by a year, 

And bent on having fun,— 

“Yes, that’s his picture, Nannie dear, 

He’s just the very one!” 

Soft tremors both the red lips stir. 

She says, “Den, Jamie brover, 

I’M tell him, ‘No, I fank you, sir, 

I’d revver live wiv muvver.’ ” 

— M. B. S. C., in “The 
Youth’s Companion.” 


GOOD-EVENING, CLARICE 

A Farce Comedy in Three Acts. By J. C. McMullen 

Five males, six females. Playing time, approximately two hours. 
Costumes of the present day. Scene—a single interior. Annette 
Franklin, a jealous wife, has been raising a little domestic war over 
her husband’s supposed infatuation for a noted dancer, Clarice de 
Mauree. How Annette was proven wrong in her supposition, cured 
of her jealousy, and found her long lost parents, makes a comedy, 
which, while easy of production, proves very effective in the pre¬ 
sentation. The part of Clarice, the dancer, gives the opportunity 
for an excellent female character lead. All of the other parts are of 
equal importance and the situations fairly radiate comedy and swift 
moving action. This new play has already made its public debut 
in manuscript form, having been used with great success on the 
Pacific coast. Royalty, $10.00 for the first and $5.00 for each subse¬ 
quent performance by the same cast. Professional rates will be 
quoted on request. 

Scenes 

Act I.—lyiving-room of the Franklin residence, Buffalo, N. Y., 
7 : 15 p. m. 

Act II. — The same, 8:15 p. m. 

Act III.—The same, 9 :oo p. M. 

Price, 50 cents. 

HIS UNCLE’S NIECE 

A Rollicking Farce in Three Acts. By Raymond W. Sargent 

Six males, three females. Scenery not difficult. The plot of this 
hilarious farce centres around a letter received by Francis Felton 
from his Uncle Simon of Happy Valley Junction, who has alway? 
supposed that Francis was of the opposite sex. The letter am 
nounces that the uncle has selected a husband for his niece and thal 
they are both on the way to New York to make final arrangements 
for the wedding. In desperation, to keep up a deception started 
years before by his parents, Francis assumes a female character 
role in order to carry out a provision whereby he is to receive a 
million dollar bequest from his uncle. The explanations made 
necessary through this change are amusing and realistic. The 
denouement is a surprise and one that will lift the audience to its 
feet with applause. You have seen Charley’s Aunt on the pro¬ 
fessional stage, and here is a chance for amateurs to act in a play 
that is even better suited to their requirements. 

CHARACTERS 

Scenes 

Act I.—Interior of Francis Felton’s and Richard Tate’s bachelor 
establishment at Boston. 

Act II.—Same as Act I. Afternoon of the same day. 

Act III.—Exterior of Uncle Simon’s summer home at Happy 
Valley Junction. Evening; three days later. 

Time: Midsummer. 

Time of playing: Approximately two hours. 

Price. 15 cents. 


STEP OUT—JACK! 

An Optimistic Comedy in Three Acts. By Harry Osborne 

A successful vehicle for talented amateurs. Twelve males (can 
be played with less), five females. Costumes modern. Scenery, 
three simple interiors. Jack Rysdale is “down and out." All he 
has in the world are the clothes on his back and the love in his heart 
for the wealthy and beautiful Zoe Galloway. He dare not ask her 
to marry him until he has made his way in the world. Zoe loves 
him, and while the girls in New York do nearly everything else, they 
do not propose—yet. Jack’s fighting spirit is about gone when he 
meets a man named Wilder, who is a natural fighter and knows how 
to bring out the fighting qualities in others. From him Jack learns 
that he has a dangerous rival in Percy Lyons. He learns that if he 
is going to get anywhere in this world, he can’t stand in line and 
await his turn but must step out and “ go get it.’’ Fie learns more 
from Wilder in ten minutes than he absorbed in a whole year in 
college. So, figuratively speaking, he steps out, takes the middle of 
the road and “gives ’er gas.’’ Once started, nothing can stop him 
until he has attained his object. Every girl will fall in love with 
Jack and every man and boy will admire his pluck and courage. 
Zoe is a matrimonial prize on fourteen different counts, and her 
chum, Cynthia, a close second. Wilder is a regular man’s man who 
can convince any one who doesn’t wear ear muffs that black is 
white and vice-versa. Then there is Percy Lyons, who never stayed 
out very late, Clarence Galloway, a rich man’s son looking for a 
job, Buddie the office boy, who is broken-hearted if he misses a 
ball game, and Bernice Williams, who thinks she is a regular little 
Home Wrecker but isn’t. An artistic and box office success for 
clever amateurs. 

Act I.—Private Office of R. W. Wilder. 

Act II.—Library— John Galloway’s Home. 

Act III.—Rysdale’s office. 

Time: : The present. 

Place : New York City. 

Time of playing: Approximately two hours. 

Price, 50 cents . Royalty, $10.00 

THE SHOW ACTRESS 

A Comedy in One Act. By J. C. McMullen 

Two males, four females. Costumes, country of the present day. 
Playing time about forty minutes. Scene, dining-room of the Martin 
Homestead, Hillville, Vt. A burlesque troupe is stranded in the 
little village of Flillville. Goldie, the star, is taken in by the Martins. 
Her adventures with the cow at milking time, and with the domestic 
cook-stove are a scream. She eventually restores the Mar¬ 
tins’ lost’ daughter, captures the thief robbing the village bank and 
marries Zek’l, the bashful village constable. Full of action. AH 
parts good, Goldie the lead, and Zek’l, the bashful lover, being 
particularly effective. 

Price, 25 cents. 






WHEN A FELLER NEEDS A FRIEND 

A Farce in Three Acts 
By J. C. McMullen 

Five male, five female characters. Costumes, modern; scenery, a 
single easy interior. Plays a full evening. Royalty for amateurs, #io.OG 
a performance. Tom Denker and Bob Mills, trying to break into New 
York, have reached the point where their furniture consists of soap boxes, 
their diet what they can steal from the dog’s milk and the parrot’s cracker, 
and where one suit between them is the best they can do. How they 
climbed out of these social depths and what side-splitting complications 
arose from their efforts to do so form the plot of a mighty funny play 
which provides ten parts of about equal opportunity and is as easy to pro¬ 
duce as it is effective. Can be strongly recommended for any use in 
amateur theatricals, but especially for high school performance. 

Price, 35 cents 

CHARACTERS 

Tom Denker, an artist. 

Bob Mills, a magazine writer. 

Mrs. Reese, their landlady. 

Jerry Smith, just returned from “Over There'* 

Liz, Mrs. Reese's stepdaughter. 

“ Bing ” Dickson, Liz's steady. 

William Denker, Tom's uncle. 

Alice King, Toms aunt. 

Elaine Lynne, Alice King's ward. 

Angela Scott, Bob 's fiancee. 

SYNOPSIS 

Act I. A room in Mrs. Reese’s apartment house, io :oo a. m. 

Act II. The same. 11 : oo a. m. 

Act III. The same. 12 : 00 m. 


TO INSURE PROMPT AND ACCURATE DE¬ 
LIVERY to us of your orders, always conform to 
the recent ruling: of the Post-Office Department and 
address us as follows: 

WALTER H. BAKER & CO 
5 Hamilton Place, 

BOSTON 9, 

MASS. 

THE FIGURE 9 IS IMPORTANT as it marks 
our particular Division of the Boston Postal District* 






















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